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mymindisneverhere · 3 days

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warnings: 18+, SMUT, dirty talk, unprotected sex, & more but don’t say I ain’t warn you.

Summary: Aaron is head of an architect firm who just hired a new assistant who is very nervous yet severely attracted to him.

(this is my first time writing one of these but I had to cause this man got me in a chokehold. enjoy!) 🩵

Assistance

She watched as his back muscles flexed with every rep. He had been exercising for the past 30 minutes and she didn’t want to interrupt but this was an emergency. Meagan had been Mr. Pierre’s assistant for 3 months now and she was enjoying her time with him. He was a kind yet stern gentleman who took his business endeavors very seriously. He needed her to send the final blueprints of a new building his architect firm would be preparing to build this coming fall. The deadline was in an hour and there were still bits and pieces of information missing. She knew how much this meant to her boss but she also knew how much his private workout routines meant to him as well.

She didn't mean to stare but she couldn’t tear her gaze from his glistening body. This man was sculpted by the creator themselves. Every muscle flexed perfectly and the veins in his arms went well with his masculine physique. She studied his movements as he brought both of his arms up and down above his head, doing what they called “Shoulder Press”. After a few more reps he slammed the dumbbells down and leaned forward to catch his breath. She had been in such a trance that she didn’t notice him looking up to see her staring in the mirror.

“Do you like your job?” He asked in a stern tone.

”Uh y-yes.” She stammered, shaking her head to bring herself back into the present moment, pushing her curly hair behind her ears.

”Then I suggest you get back to it then.” He stated, reaching for a towel and throwing it over his shoulder.

“Um, Mr. Pierre sir, th-there are a few details missing from the blueprints. We h-have an hour and uh, I-I didn’t want to send them t-to the contractors until-“ She stuttered. She hated when this happened. She’d get so nervous that her words would struggle to leave her mouth. She always struggled with her speech impediment since a child but it had gotten better over the years, that is until she met Mr. Pierre.

He walked over to her grabbing the papers from her hand reviewing the layouts of the new fine arts museum that would be built right in the center of downtown. As he looked over the paperwork the two sat in silence. Well he was silent but he could hear her struggling to breathe as he stood a few inches away from her. He made her nervous and he liked it. It wasn’t anything new to him though.

Being the man that he was with a million dollar business caused women to gawk at the sight of him. What he didn’t enjoy about these women were the ones who were obviously bothered by his presence but chose to put on a front. He knew that he could be intimidating and he hadn’t done it on purpose. But the women who tried so hard to match his aura always failed tremendously. The over talking, over sexualizing themselves, practically throwing themselves at him when they weren’t even prepared for the type of man he was, irritated him.

But his assistant, Meagan, was a different story. She’d get nervous from time to time when speaking with him but she’d never force herself to hide it. He’d notice that she’d take a few deep breaths, take a sip of water and then get right back to it like she never missed a beat. He liked that. He had to admit watching her struggle around him fed his ego a bit.

He looked to her and handed her the papers, giving her the corrections to make before sending it off to be finalized.

“Is that all?” He asked, staring down at her with a stern expression.

“Yes sir, thank you.” She grabbed the papers with a steady hand, slowly to be sure she didn’t drop them or make it obvious that he had her shook. She placed the folder with the paperwork under her arm and turned to leave his in-home gym.

He stood watching her walk away, admiring her natural body from her defined hips that slightly dipped into deep dimples to her voluptuous ass. No matter how many pairs of tights she’d wear, they would never stop the natural jiggle that happened when she’d walk. He felt his dick jump in his workout tights and he knew he had to have her. He immediately grabbed his phone and made his way to his bedroom to shower.

Meagan sat at the kitchen island, her fingers going a mile a minute as she sent email after email. They had done it, they had just secured the lot for the new Museum of Fine Arts and this meant Mr. Pierre would have a large check coming to him very soon. This was her first big win as his assistant and she couldn’t decide how she would celebrate. Although she couldn’t focus on celebrating because every time she did, images of him flashed in her mind. Images of him in the gym, images of him staring down at his sketches for the new buildings, images of him fucking her-

“Did you get it to them on time?” He asked, interrupting her thoughts. She silently thanked him before responding.

“Uh yes sir.” She replied. She turned the laptop toward him so he could see for himself. “Everything is confirmed, the deal is done!” She said looking up at him. Her eyes were so soft and pleading, almost childlike. It’s like she wanted to impress him badly. She wanted to finally get the approval she had been working for these past 3 months.

“Good job.” He said dryly.

She frowned a bit, somewhat in confusion and frustration. What was with this guy? She had just helped him secure one of the biggest deals for his firm and all he could say was “Good job”. She turned the laptop back toward her and went back to doing her daily emailing.

As she confirmed meetings and lunches for him she tried to sneak a peek at him but he was already staring at her. She didn’t know what this meant but she was afraid she’d be in the unemployment line real soon. He didn’t say anything, he just stared at her. When the silence went on for longer than she expected her mind went into overdrive. She couldn’t be getting fired, they had just closed a 7 figure deal, but she did overstep a boundary by going into his gym without his permission. But it was an emergency, hell it was for his business. He couldn’t have been that much of an asshole.

”Look Mr. Pierre, I-I’m sorry about coming into the g-gym without your permission. I just d-didnt want to mess up y-your b-big-“ She struggled to get out before he interrupted her.

”Breathe.” He suggested.

She stared down at her hands as she took a few deep breaths before mustering up the courage to meet his stern gaze again.

“You’re not in trouble.” He said, calming her mind first and her body second. He studied her as he watched her chest rise up and down slowly. Her jaw became unclenched and her shoulders more relaxed.

He looked down at his watch to see the time was nearly 11p.m., it was too late to send her on her way. He had enough bedrooms in this house, she could just pick one to rest for the night and be on her way in the morning.

“I don’t want you driving back home so late tonight.” He spoke.

“Oh, I’ll be fine. It’s no prob-“

”That’s an order.” He interrupted. “I wouldn’t be a man if I let you leave so late, I know you have a far drive to make.”

She nodded, refusing to look him in the eye.

“You know your way around the house, you can stay in a guest suite tonight.” He said before leaving the kitchen. “Great job by the way.”

She looked up at him in surprise.

“You’ll be around for a while so get comfortable.” He finished, leaving her in the kitchen alone.

Once she heard his footsteps become silent, indicating that he was no longer within ears reach, she jumped up in celebration. That is exactly what she wanted to hear.

”Yes!” She yelled, covering her mouth. She giggled to herself as she grabbed her laptop off of the island and made her way up to one of the guest suites.

After placing her things in the chair that sat near the window, she unbuttoned her dress shirt and kicked off her heels. She chose to stay in the guest suite on the far west wing of the house, it was in the opposite wing from his bedroom. She walked into the large bathroom that was attached to the suite and turned on the lights. She looked over to see a walk in shower and a large garden tub. She had chosen to take a shower instead, she was already a guest in his house, the last thing she needed to do was spend hours in his bathtub.

She turned on the faucet, pulling it all the way left to get the water as hot as possible. That was the only way she’d take showers. Closing the shower door, she walked over to the mirror to continue removing her clothes while the water warmed to her liking. She got down to her bra and panties, a matching set, as she admired her reflection. When she unbuttoned her bra, causing her natural 34 C’s to drop a bit, the images began to flash in her mind. Only this time she had imagined Mr. Pierre in the bathroom with her, staring at her with those icy blue eyes that sent chills down her spine.

This made her pussy tingle. The thought of her tall, broad shouldered, smooth skin, no nonsense boss staring at her with pure hunger and desire. Him touching all over her body, feeling her breasts in his big hands, feeling his soft lips on her neck. Her fantasies were making her wet but it was fine because she would hop right in the shower to wash her lustful thoughts away.

She stepped out of her panties and into the shower, letting the hot water run down her body. Her hands ran up and down her figure as she tried hard to stop the fantasies of her boss joining her in the shower. She had pictured what he’d look like naked a few times, she had already gotten half of the picture today when she saw him shirtless. His toned arms, each one covered in a single tattoo, his chiseled chest, his brown nipples, his defined abs and that V cut that she had stared down at while he reviewed the blueprints. She knew that V cut led to a heavy dick, carved with thick veins and a head that would feel soft against her lips.

She was so deep in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized that her hands had been playing in her pussy. Her middle finger and ring finger toyed with her clit as her hands began to wrinkle from the wetness her boss had brought her and he didn’t even know. As she played with her pussy she imagined his tongue there.

“Fuck.” She had let out a moan, sure that she wouldn’t be heard. She was positive that the water would drown out her cries.

“You feel so good in my pussy Mr. Pierre.” She said aloud, not worried about being heard by him or the house keepers. “Eat this pussy Daddy.”

She moaned and groaned, begging and pleading for her boss to make her cum until she came all over his face in her mind, her fingers in reality. After a few breaths she opened her eyes to realize where she was and that she needed to get clean so she could get some sleep.

A few minutes passed and the water was turned off. She stepped out of the shower, one foot at a time before realizing she had no towel to dry off with. She searched through the drawers in the sink vanity and found nothing but toothbrushes and toothpaste. Not a towel in sight.

“Shit.” She said to herself. She needed to dry off but stepping outside of this bathroom uncovered was too much of a risk for her. She didn’t even want to think of being caught by the house keepers let alone her boss. She sat thinking for a few minutes, contemplating on whether or not she should just air dry and slip on the pajama sets he had stored in the nightstand next to the bed. She hated air drying in the bathroom though, it was so wet and humid, she needed to get out of there.

Once she remembered his beautiful mansion came with intercoms in each room she figured she'd just politely ask for some towels to be left outside of the door. Finally satisfied with her plan, she headed for the bathroom door. When she swung the door open her heart sank as she met his blue eyes first. Her boss, Mr. Pierre stood on the other side of the door staring down at her.

Panic was written all over her face as she remembered she had just orgasmed to the thought of him eating her. She had called out his name and many other things, confident that she wouldn’t be heard. But by the look on his face, she knew he had heard everything.

“I remembered the housekeepers didn’t stock this bathroom with towels, so I thought I’d bring you some.” He started, still staring down at her with those beautiful eyes, that seem to change to a light hazel color now. He walked into the bathroom causing her to step back until her back hit the wall near the shower.

“Did you need me for something?” He smirked, towering over her. Her 5’4 frame didn’t stand a chance under his 6’3 build.

She stood there speechless, she didn’t know what to say. She was too embarrassed to speak. No matter how hard he stared at her, she refused to meet his eyes. So she stood staring at his chest, his muscular and defined chest.

“I- um, I- was j-“ She struggled, this time understandably.

He bent down, burying his face into her neck, sucking on her vanilla scented skin. She was still so caught off guard, not coming to terms with the fact that her fantasies were coming true in real time. He dropped the towels and reached down to grab her legs, wrapping them around his waist. He sucked and licked on her neck, planting kisses all over her.

“Sir, I-I didn’t m-mean to-“ She stuttered, struggling to breathe correctly or at all.

“Don’t be nervous now.” He mumbled, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. “This what you wanted right?” He pulled her off of the wall and sat her on the bathroom sink.

“Um…” She managed.

“Right?” He asked, looking into her eyes, demanding a response.

She looked up at him before taking a deep breath and responding “Yes.”

“Yes what?” He asked, still staring intensely at her.

“Yes sir.” She breathed.

He smirked. He enjoyed having women at his mercy but this woman was different. He didn’t expect her to be pleasuring herself to the thought of him. She appeared innocent and sweet but that was clearly a front. She craved him just as much as he craved her.

He looked down at her freshly waxed pussy still glistening as a result of her own pleasures. He licked his lips as he admired the sight of her body in front of him. He didn’t know where to start, he just knew he didn’t want to go wrong with this masterpiece that sat waiting to be devoured by him.

She looked down at his sweatpants and saw his print. She wanted so badly to find out what he felt like, what he tasted like, how his dick would feel hitting the back of her throat. Without hesitation she stood from the sink and dropped to her knees. She ran her fingers around his waist before pulling his pants down, coming face to face with his dick. It was exactly how she imagined, thick, brown and beautiful. She grabbed his length with her hand, noticing the precum that sat right at the head.

She licked the sweet cum off of him, locking eyes with her boss as she did so. He was taken aback at the sight of his once nervous and jittery assistant who was now bold and fearless. He was used to being the dominant in the situation, he would have his women responding to his touch and the feeling of his tongue in their pussy. But this night was a total 180, he found himself being the subject of a woman who had dreamed of devouring him months ago.

She licked the entirety of his dick before taking him into her mouth, wrapping her lips around his hardness. She jerked her neck back and forth, her tongue rubbing against the bottom of his dick so that he could feel only the wetness and warmth of her mouth. She sucked and slurped, moaning out of pure satisfaction and enjoyment. She watched as his face frowned in pure bliss. He had placed his hands on her head to help guide her but she didn’t need any guidance. She could tell by the look on his face he wanted something more, but he was in too much ecstasy to bring himself to say it.

“Fuck my face.” She said, rubbing the head of his penis against her full lips that were covered in spit. She liked the fact that she was watching her super tough super masculine boss fold at her touch, it was all because of her.

He tightened the grip on her head and forced himself into her mouth touching the back of her throat. She relaxed the muscles in her neck so that he could get better access, all the access he hoped for. He fucked her face, pumping in and out of her mouth pausing when he got all of himself into her. This caused her to gag slightly, building more saliva in her mouth which would make for an even better experience. He thrusted his hips back and forth, pausing between strokes to trigger her gag reflex. He loved the sound of her struggling to take all of him in. The more she gagged, the more tears built in her eyes. Before she knew it, the tears had fallen and the spit that built in her throat and ran down her neck onto her breasts.

This sight caused him to clench his jaw reluctantly. His assistant who he perceived as innocent had turned into a slut all because of him. The way she moaned as if she was the one being pleasured, the way her eyes would roll into her head and then focused back into his, hedidn’t want to cum just yet but the way she locked eyes with while he fucked her pretty face sent him over the edge. How she sat and took in every inch of him without tapping out made him let out a loud groan before sending his nut down her throat.

”Fuuuuuck!” He groaned, holding her head in place as he rode out his orgasm. She sat still as he struggled to catch his breath, her eyes still locked onto his. He pulled out of her and took a few breaths, still coming down from his climax. She swallowed every single drop of him.

“Stand up.” He demanded, his voice deep and impatient.

She stood with a slight smirk on her face, proud of her performance. In a swift motion she spun around facing the mirror as he kicked her legs open and slightly bent her over the sink. His hand was still wrapped tightly around her curls so this sudden change in position was all his doing. He pressed himself into her ass while he eyed her through the mirror. He could see that this had caught her off guard, the ball was now back in his court. He stared down at her ass, biting his lip in anticipation.

“Don't get nervous now.” She said, eyeing him through the mirror, a small smirk on her face again.

Without warning he pushed himself into her slowly until all of him was inside of her, every single inch. She let out a small wince from pain from the size of his dick. It had been a while since she’d had any, let alone one this size. With a hand full of curls in his left hand, he pulled her head back wrapping the other around her throat as he began to fuck her from behind. The sound of her ass slapping against him and the wetness from her pussy sent her into another realm. It was so good, better than she’d imagined.

He stroked her pussy, barely tightening the grip he had on her lower jaw. He pulled in and out of her, slamming himself into her with a quick thrust and then returning back to his steady pace. As he began to roll his hips into her, he saw her face twist in complete pleasure.

”Is this how you wanted it?” He said into her ear.

“Mhmm.” She replied, still so caught up in the pleasure she was getting from him.

“Use your words.” He said, tightening the hold he had on her hair.

“Yes sir.” She quickly responded.

“Good girl.” He spoke into her ear.

She felt him moving in and out of her, his dick hitting every spot with every stroke. She could feel the head of his dick rub against her spot over and over again. It was only a matter of time before she would cum all over him like she had imagined for months. The more he spoke into her ear, the crazier he was driving her. He knew exactly what to say and how to say it. His deep and calm tone right in her ear sent sensations to her clit, it was so swollen that it damn near stung from pleasure.

“You gone cum on this dick for me?” He asked, tightened the grip he had around her neck.

“Yes!” That was all she could manage at the moment.

“Cum on this dick baby.” He said into her ear, still hitting that spot that made her eyebrows wrinkle in pleasure.

She could feel her stomach tightening and pussy began to contract around him, she was cumming.

“Yes daddy, I’m cummin’” She yelled out in pleasure. He continued stroking her, feeling her creamy goodness run down his dick and onto his balls. He wanted all of her, he wouldn’t leave her until she was completely undone. He slowed his pace giving her time to come down from her orgasm before he made her cum again.

After a few long and slow strokes, he gradually picked up his pace aiming for another climax from her.

“Oh fuck yes!” She cried out. She had never cum multiple times in one day. For her orgasms to be back to back like this, there was no way she would ever meet anyone else who would top him.

”Give me that shit.” He spat, his lips brushing her earlobe. He needed his demands to send blood rushing right to her pussy.

”Yes!” She screamed, cumming all over him once again. Her clit jumped as her pussy throbbed naturally after her second orgasm. Even after that powerful flood that ran down her legs, he still hadn’t stopped stroking.

“I can’t.” She said, pleading for him to let her come down.

“Yes you can.” He said, now picking up the pace. His strokes became harder and faster, this time it was his turn to become undone and he wasn’t stopping until he did so. He fucked her like he was running a marathon and he could see the finish line a few feet away.

“Please.” She begged. Her hearing was starting to fade and breathing was becoming harder and harder by the second. On one hand she wanted a break, she needed a break from all of this back to back pleasure. But for some reason she didn’t want him to stop, she could feel his dick throb in her pussy. She knew he was about to cum and she wanted to have the last laugh.

“I’m almost there baby.” He said, his eyes closed as he felt the nut build in his lower abdomen. She watched in amazement as his face turned in pleasure. She took this opportunity to watch him fold yet again.

“Cum in my pussy daddy.” She moaned.

That was it. He leaned forward, placing his lips on her neck, closing his eyes even tighter than before. He grinded deeply into her until he felt his muscles in his stomach flex.

”Fuck!” He groaned into her neck as he shot his cum deep into her pussy. He stroked forcefully until he felt all of himself empty inside of her, before stopping and letting go of her hair.

There they rested against the bathroom counter struggling to catch their breath, holding onto each other for dear life. After a few minutes they both opened their eyes and stared at each other through the mirror.

“Sleep in my room tonight.” He began. “Or you’re fired.” He finished, pulling himself out of her and leaving the room.

She felt her knees buckle as she struggled to keep herself upright.

”I love my job.” She said to herself.

(I hope y’all liked it 😭 excuse any mistakes)

🩵

#aaron pierre #Aaron Pierre fanfiction #Aaron Pierre x black fem reader #Aaron Pierre x black reader #this man is fine #god did his big one #rebel ridge #terry richmond #aaron pierre fanfic

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mattsturnioloz · 8 hours

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Then I lost you: Pt 4.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

Summary: Matt's career as a youtuber takes a toll on his 4 year relationship with his girlfriend, putting it on hold. Will it ever be the same again?

Warnings: angst, unresolved angst, crying, talk about intercourse, make out, fluff!!

Pairings: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

A/N: (Felt like writing chapter 4 cause I need to know what happens😭 also I recommend listening to the song while reading🙂)

“You know deep down it’s for the best y/n.” Matt says to me, gently taking my hands in his, a few tears rolling down his cheeks. I feel a deep pang in my heart but I wipe my tears. I nod, hugging him. We share a long heartfelt hug, and it only gets tighter each second.

“I love you.” I silently cry. “I love you more baby..” Matt says, softly hugging me closer, his arms around my torso. This very same night we cuddle eachother close, not knowing if it’s gonna be the last time.

———- ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ———-

The next morning I wake up still cuddled up with Matt, my heart heavy. It’s soon, but I know I should house hunt right now. Because if I don’t leave soon, I don’t think I ever will. I sit up taking myself out of matt’s arms gently, not wanting to wake up, but he stirs awake anyway and yanks me down pulling me closer. It hurts so bad but this feels so good.

I spend the next week house hunting, not finding anything that feels like home yet. No where is home if Matt isn’t with me. Matt is my home.

Matt and I still act like a couple, because we know this won’t be for much longer, and it felt like how it used to be, when we first got together. Innocent and sweet. It hurts to know we’re letting this go. I feel like we just gave up on what we have too soon. I don’t want to let it all go.

Matt comes with me to check out a house and when we walk in, we instantly feel like this is the one for me. It was small and cozy, which I love since it’s only gonna be me. Only me.

I sign the papers and buy the house, with a smile on my face, but it fades once I remember the circumstances. My things are still at my old Matt’s place, already all packed up.

We walk into Matt’s room which once was mine too, after loading all my boxes of belongings into the u-haul. It feels empty and I take a look at his face and all I see is dread and tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Matt..” I almost whisper. I grab his hand pulling him closer to bring him into a hug, and he breaks into sobs. I’ve never heard matt cry, not like this. Tears roll down my cheeks as we hug again.

“P-please- Please don’t go yet.. i just want- need one more night with you..please-” He chokes out, stuttering and sobbing. “Okay.. I would love that..” I say softly, sniffing while cupping his face, lifting it so that I can look at him with a smile and I kiss his salty teary lips.

It was time for bed and I decide to shower. I go to the bathroom and I get undressed before getting in and letting the water run over my body. I hear the bathroom door open and I open the curtain, finding Matt undressing himself to join me.

Before I could even say anything he opens the curtain wider and gets in, kissing me sweetly and softly. We shower together while showering eachother with love.

When we finish, Matt turns the shower faucet off then helps me out the shower. Once we’re out he dries my hair and naked body with the towel before doing the same to himself.

We brush our teeth, still just in towels and when we finish Matt gently grabs my chin, turning my head to face him and he kisses me. It gets deeper by the second but no faster. It was lust-filled but in the sweetest way.

He lifts me up by my thighs gripping them and takes me to the room, closing the door and gently putting me on the bed before crawling on top of me and slowly removing the towel, kissing me passionately once again. He makes his way to my neck slowly, taking his time, being gentle.

We make slow but sweet passionate love all night, and tears were shed during it, but after we cuddled eachother close and held on tight because now we knew for sure that this was our last night together. We fall asleep in eachother’s arms, not ready to let go.

———- ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ———-

Matt’s Pov:

I wake up in the morning with y/n’s arms and legs tied around me and it hits me that this is our last day together, which also happens to mark our 5 year anniversary..

I want to take back what I said. What I said about us not working. I regret it. But I know it’s too late and the damage is already done.

I don’t know what i’m gonna do without her. She’s my light, and I can’t believe I’m this stupid enough to be letting someone like her go. I love her and I can’t imagine my life without her.

She was supposed to be my wife. The mother of my children. The one who I was supposed to grow old with. The one who I would be telling stories with to our kids about how we met and fell in love. I messed it up, and now I can’t take it back, but i’ve hurt her enough.

I feel y/n start to stir awake and I brush her hair out of her face, looking down at her with a loose genuine smile. “Good morning baby..” I say leaning down towards her face to give her a sweet kiss on the tip of her nose then on the corner of her lips.

“Good morning..” She smiles with grogginess in her eyes. Her smile pulling at my heartstrings. “Happy 5 year anniversary, my love.” I say kissing her lips this time. Her smile fades and her face is in a frown. Her eyes well up which makes mine too. “I know.. I know..” I hold her close as we cry together as I occasionally kiss her forehead. I wipe her tears before kissing her forehead one last time and we get up and get dressed up for the day.

We make breakfast while messing around and laughing together, and I couldn’t help but hang onto our love that’s still here and after breakfast I feel so much affection towards her.

“Hey, why don’t I take you out for dinner tonight?” I ask her pulling her closer by the waist. “Why not?” She agrees with a big smile on her face. I lean down to peck her lips softly. “Perfect, i’ll take you home so that you can get ready then i’ll be back to pick you up” I say enthusiastically. She nods and leans up, standing up on her tip toes to give me a kiss.

I grab my keys and I lead her to the car to take her home. We get in and on the drive there we listen to music and talk about whatever we felt like talking about.

Once we get there, she grabs her purse from between her legs and she give me a kiss. “See you later..” She says with a small but sweet smile. “See you later baby..” I say, giving her a warm smile. She walks off to her front door and she opens it, going inside and shutting the door behind her, I start the car and I drive back home. I was determined to make this the best last date. Just for her.

1,250 words.

A/N: (thought this was gonna be the last part but I got exhausted and didn’t wanna wait to post it so part 5 is coming out tomorrow and is gonna be the last part!! I got so emotional making this part omgggg, writing angst is not for the weakkkk😭)

Taglist: @watercolorskyy @starzinasblog @imwetforyourmom @urfavstromboli @sturniqloo @star-yawnznn @h3arts4harry

#matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo angst #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #Spotify

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ravenrothstr · 21 hours

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Lie With You

summary. Jaehyun turned back time to you, just to know he couldn't keep anything from the journey.

genre. college! au. fluff

words count. 10.0k

disclaimer. the story is fully fictional. other names mentioned are just for the story and pure imagination, with no bad intentions

--⩇⩇:⩇⩇--

You stood near the entrance of the Neo Club, your tiny fingers gripping the paper bag you had prepared earlier, waiting for your boyfriend. It had been two years since you two got together, although it felt like only the first half of the relationship was when he truly cherished you. Now, it seemed like you were the only one still holding on.

"I can never get used to this," you whispered to yourself, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you.

Only God knew how much you wanted to disappear into the shadows. The Neo Club was where your boyfriend and his friends hung out to write and practice their music—they were, after all, the university band. The thought of his friends seeing you here, waiting after he had ghosted you for months, gnawed at you. But you knew better than anyone that you needed this. The relationship needed this.

Your heart raced when the door opened, and to your relief, it was your boyfriend, Jaehyun, stepping out first.

"Jaehyun ah", you called softly.

He didn't look happy but he couldn't brush you off in front of others.

"Oh, y/n. You're here?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd stop by." You paused for a moment before continuing quietly, "It is our anniversary after all."

Jaehyun's face tightened at the reminder, but he quickly composed himself. It was obvious he had forgotten—just like he had forgotten Valentine’s Day.

"Y/n!", Doyoung greeted you enthusiastically, flashing you a warm smile.

You radiate the energy back quickly, Doyoung has always been nice to you regardless and you're more than thankful for that.

"Hi Doyoung, nice to see you again", you glance over Jaehyun out of the corner of your eye. You caught the faint sneer twisting his lips.

"You too, we were about to grab dinner. Come join us",wrapping an arm around Ten's shoulder.

The three of them were really close, as they bonded through their passion for music. However, you always felt Jaehyun had a silent jealousy towards Doyoung. Before you could answer Doyoung, Jaehyun was quick to interfere in the conversation.

"No, it's our anniversary. She can't spend time with you"

You were stunned, but yes. Tonight is important for you, you had planned it all for weeks ago.

The two of you parted ways with Doyoung and Ten and walked toward the nearby park. The walk was quiet; neither of you said a word.

"How contradictory," you thought bitterly.

You reminisced about how Jaehyun used to reach for your hand so naturally, especially on nights like this. You missed it more than you could express. Gathering all your courage, you decided to ask for it one last time.

"Can I… hold your hand? Just this once, I promise."

"Oh. Sure, here." Jaehyun reached out, gently taking your hand.

The simple touch made you emotional. It was bittersweet—both comforting and painful all at once.

Once you both reached the park, the cool evening breeze swept through the air, carrying with it a quiet serenity. You found a bench under the soft glow of the park's lampposts, and you gently placed the paper bag you had been carrying beside you. Jaehyun sat down next to you, his expression distant but calm.

You reached into the bag and pulled out a small cake, carefully wrapped in a box. You had chosen it from his favorite bakery, hoping it might spark a little warmth between you two. It was a simple slice of vanilla cake, layered with whipped cream and strawberries—a favorite from your earlier days together.

“I got this for us,” you said quietly, handing him a fork.

Jaehyun glanced at the cake, then at you before taking the fork from your hand. You cut a small piece for yourself, and for a moment, both of you were lost in the quiet rhythm of eating. The sweetness of the cake contrasted with the heaviness in the air.

Jaehyun took a bite, chewing slowly.

“It’s good,” he said, though his voice lacked the enthusiasm you were once used to.

You offered a faint smile, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you. As you ate, memories of the past flooded your mind—the times when sharing a simple dessert would have brought laughter, playful banter, and warmth. Now, the silence was deafening, and each bite of cake tasted bittersweet.

You glanced over at Jaehyun, noticing how even the joy of something familiar, something you used to share, seemed distant now. He ate slowly, almost as if going through the motions, and you realized that the cake, much like your relationship, was a fleeting attempt to recapture something that was already slipping away.

"Jaehyun ah", you called.

He responded with a hum, not bothering to lift his face toward you. As you both finished the last bites, you wiped your fingers on a napkin and looked at him one more time, hoping for a connection that never came. The cake was gone, and with it, the last remnant of the sweetness you had once shared.

"Let's not see each other again"

He stopped breathing at your words, finally meeting your eyes.

"What?"

"You heard me. Let's end this relationship already," you said, your eyes turning glassy before you continued.

"I’ve thought about us, and it’s best for us to part ways. The way you’ve been handling this relationship... it’s clear enough for me to see that I’m not part of the future you’re so busy planning."

"Are you saying I don't think of you in my future? Y/N, you know how much the band, this music, means to me. Making new music, composing... it’s really not easy, and it’s been tough, especially now that I can't come up with anything—"

"I understand, Jaehyun. I really do, but that’s not the point here."

"Then what is the point?"

"Jaehyun, do you even love me anymore?"

Jaehyun froze at your question, the weight of it hanging in the air between you. He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, as if searching for the right words or perhaps realizing there weren’t any. The silence stretched, painfully long, before he finally spoke.

"Of course, I do, Y/N... but things are just... complicated right now."

You shook your head, feeling a mix of frustration and sadness.

"Complicated," you echoed, your voice breaking slightly.

"That’s all you ever say. It shouldn’t feel like I’m waiting for you to show up for me." He looked away, guilt and confusion flickering in his eyes.

"I didn’t mean to make you feel that way."

"But you did," you whispered. "And now, it’s too late."

Jaehyun’s face tightened as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

"So this is it? You’re giving up on us?"

"I’m not giving up, Jaehyun. I’m letting go. There’s a difference," you replied, feeling tears brimming in your eyes but refusing to let them fall.

"I deserve more than waiting around for someone who’s not sure if he wants me in his life."

Jaehyun remained silent, his hands clenching into fists as if fighting an internal battle. Part of him wanted to fight for you, but deep down, he knew you were right. He hadn’t been the partner you deserved, and now it was too late to fix what was broken.

As you stood up to leave, the weight of your decision felt heavy on your shoulders.

"Goodbye, Jaehyun," you said softly, your voice barely audible.

He watched as you walked away, your figure fading into the distance. For the first time, Jaehyun realized that the music he’d been chasing wasn’t the only thing he’d lost.

Jaehyun dragged himself back to the Neo Club, his mind a tangled mess of emotions. The weight of what just happened gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside, hoping that being with Doyoung and Ten might help him forget, even for a little while.

As he entered the dimly lit room, Doyoung and Ten were standing near the stage, grinning. "Surprise!" they both shouted, holding up a small cake with flickering candles. Jaehyun blinked, confused for a moment.

But then it hit him like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t for him.

"Where’s Y/N?" Doyoung asked, his smile faltering when he saw Jaehyun standing there alone.

Jaehyun’s face went pale, and the realization crashed down on him like a wave.

"Shit..." he muttered under his breath, clenching his fists.

It was your birthday.

He had forgotten. Completely.

The candles flickered in the awkward silence, the joyful surprise that Doyoung and Ten had planned now hanging in the air like a painful reminder. Jaehyun cursed himself, guilt settling in as he realized just how much he had already lost.

Jaehyun’s mind was a foggy mess as he stumbled through the park where the two of you had spent countless evenings together. Each step felt slower than the last. He found himself at the fountain—the one that had always been your favourite. The soft trickling of water formed a river-like stream that wound its way through the park, a quiet reminder of all the moments you’d shared.

He stopped in front of it, staring blankly at the rippling water. In his mind, he could still see you there, sitting on the bench with a soft smile on your face, your laughter echoing in his ears. How you used to tease him for getting lost in his thoughts, how you’d grab his hand and pull him close. The memory was so vivid it felt like he could reach out and touch it.

But you weren’t there anymore.

The realization hit him harder than anything else—harder than the silence that followed after you left. You were gone.

He slumped down onto the bench, his hands running through his hair as he tried to process it all. How had it come to this? How had he let you slip away without even realizing what he was losing? The band, the music—it all seemed so distant now, meaningless in comparison to the hollow ache in his chest.

"I’m letting go. There’s a difference," your voice echoed in his mind, soft but final.

You deserved more than he could give, and deep down, he knew that. He knew he had pushed you away, made you feel small, like an afterthought.

But knowing it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

Jaehyun’s vision blurred as the tears he had been holding back finally spilt over. He didn’t try to wipe them away. He let them fall, dripping onto his jeans as he stared at the fountain, wishing more than anything that he could turn back time. He would hold your hand tighter, make you laugh more, and show you that he loved you instead of leaving you in the shadows.

And now, it was too late.

As the fountain continued its soft, rhythmic flow, Jaehyun whispered into the darkness, knowing no one would hear him.

"I’m sorry... I love you."

But the words, just like you, were gone—carried away by the wind, never to return.

Jaehyun glanced back to reality as he searched for a coin in his pocket. He never believed in any superstitious beliefs but could use one tonight. Taking out the coin, ready to make one and toss it into the fountain.

"Take me back," he chanted.

"Just let me be with her a little longer," as he closed his eyes, bringing his hand in the gesture of wishing before tossing the coin.

As Jaehyun's coin splashed into the fountain's waters, he felt a surge of emotion wash over him, a mixture of hope and desperation swirling within his heart. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to believe in the possibility of a second chance, of redemption and reconciliation.

However, as the ripples of the coin's impact faded into the night, reality came crashing back with a sobering clarity. Jaehyun knew deep down that time could not be undone, that the wounds of the past ran too deep to be healed by mere wishes.

With a heavy heart, Jaehyun turned away from the fountain, his mind clouded with thoughts of what could have been. As he blinked back the weight of his emotions, he noticed an old man sitting on a nearby bench, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. The man offered him a gentle smile, which Jaehyun returned out of courtesy. There was something about the man that stirred Jaehyun’s curiosity.

"Do you come here often?" Jaehyun asked.

"I come here every night, young man," the old man replied.

"It’s a peaceful place," Jaehyun remarked, gesturing toward the shimmering waters, their reflection reminding him of your eyes.

"Do you believe in the power of wishes?"

The old man’s smile deepened, as though he had been waiting for that question.

"I believe in the power of music," he responded cryptically, his gaze fixed on the fountain.

Jaehyun let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. He couldn't believe he almost expected an old man to have the answer to his problems. He turned to say something more, but when he glanced back, the bench was empty, as if the man had never been there at all. It almost felt like a dream or a delusion. Yet, as Jaehyun looked at the fountain again, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the old man’s words had left something behind—something that had shifted deep within him.

As Jaehyun dwells on the mysterious encounter with the old man, his thoughts are consumed by the words uttered about the power of music. With a sense of curiosity driving him, he made his way to the Neo Club.

The room was empty when he entered as he scans the room. It was filled with all the stuff he and his club members would do, the wave of memories comes flashing back in his mind. But nothing came helpful for him in the room. Just as he was about to leave, he heard the sound of the door swinging and sees your small figure coming afterwards.

"Jaehyun? What brings you here?" you inquired, your voice breaking the silence.

Jaehyun froze, his heart skipping a beat at the sound of your voice. He vividly remembered watching you walk away, but there you were, standing before him as if you’d never left. And yet, something about you seemed different—softer, almost unreal. Without a second thought, he closed the distance between you, pulling you into a tight embrace and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Y/N, I’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "I’ve been such a fool. I should have never let you go. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I’m so grateful you came back to me."

He clung to you like a lifeline, his words spilling out in a rush.

"Thank you, thank you for giving me another chance. I promise I’ll do better. I’ll make it right this time, I swear. Just don’t leave me again."

His grip tightened as if he feared you might disappear at any moment. But you stayed still, not even hugging him back.

Confused, Jaehyun pulled back slightly, searching your face for a response. His heart pounded in his chest, fear creeping in. Something was off.

"Jaehyun," you began, your voice steady but distant,

"you just confessed to me earlier. What are you apologizing for? Did you lie about going back to the dormitory? Why are you here?"

His heart dropped as the realization hit—this wasn’t the same moment. Something was terribly wrong.

"Well, it's a bit complicated. But nothing to worry about," Jaehyun replied with a reassuring smile.

"Why are you here, though?" you pressed further.

"I was actually looking for Ten. He needed some extra music sheets," Jaehyun explained quickly.

"Oh, perfect timing. I bought some for him earlier. Here, you can give them to him. He’s your roommate anyway," you said, rummaging through your bag and handing the sheets to Jaehyun before offering a quick goodbye.

As Jaehyun watched you walk away, a wave of nostalgia hit him. He remembered how you used to subtly hint at wanting him to walk you home. Though you never directly asked, he had always known. Feeling a sudden urgency, he rushed after you, catching your wrist as you reached the exit.

"Let me walk you back to the dormitory," he offered.

"Are you sure? It's getting dark," you said, concern in your voice.

"I'm sure. I just... I want to spend a little more time with you," Jaehyun confessed, heart pounding with anticipation.

Your puzzled look mirrored the confusion stirring within Jaehyun. Could he really have traveled back to two years ago, to when your relationship had just begun?

"Jaehyun?" you called, snapping him out of his thoughts. "You’ve been zoning out a lot lately. It’s starting to worry me."

“I’m sorry, Y/N. My mind's a mess right now.”

"We can figure it out together, if you want," you smiled at him. Your warmth hit Jaehyun like a wave, and before he knew it, he was leaning in, gently placing a kiss on your lips.

“Was that too early?” he asked, resting his forehead against yours.

"Don't worry. I like it this way," you whispered, sharing a quiet laugh before continuing your walk toward the dormitory.

Jaehyun was left reeling, his mind struggling to comprehend the strange turn of events. He didn’t like this gamble he was playing but he ran out of options when he knocked on the dormitory door that he used to share with Ten. No longer later, the door swung open.

“You lost your key again, Jaehyun?”

It was Ten.

Jaehyun tried to understand the situation but the more he spoke to Ten, the more confused he got. As the next day dawns, he begins to start his routine just like how he would back at university. Trying to mix the puzzle.

Jaehyun spends the next few days retracing the familiar steps of his university life, trying to understand where exactly he is in the timeline. It was not easier for him. He kept doing things out of place, calling familiar faces around the campus but none of them recognised him, struggled to get into the right class although some seemed oddly easy this time around. It's as if his mind holds onto memories from a future that hasn't happened yet.

Just as he walked out of his last class of the day, his thoughts immediately turned to you. He had always wanted to wait for you after your classes, but you never let him, thinking it would burden him to pick you up from another faculty. Yet, as time passed and the relationship deepened, you couldn’t help but start longing for that gesture.

Jaehyun remembered how you once brought it up during a fight.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” he had said in frustration.

“It does matter, Jaehyun! You never offer, not once! I know I said it’s fine, but I wanted you to at least try,” you had replied, your voice trembling.

At that moment, he realized how much those small gestures meant to you, but he had been too wrapped up in everything else to notice. The memory of that argument lingered, making him wish he had understood sooner.

Jaehyun found himself walking to your class, his feet moving on instinct as if drawn by a force he couldn’t explain. He stood outside, leaning against the wall, nervously checking the time. His heart raced with anticipation, unsure if this gesture would mean anything now.

As students started to spill out, he caught sight of you, chatting with a friend. For a moment, he hesitated, wondering if he should even be there. But then your eyes met his, and time seemed to slow. He offered a small, unsure smile, hoping you’d remember this moment—the one you had once wanted so badly.

"Jaehyun, you shouldn't be doing this. I can wait for you after you finish your band practice", you whispered to him when you walked towards him. He could see how shy you become.

"I know, but I want to be here for you," Jaehyun replied, his voice low but earnest.

You paused, caught off guard by his sincerity.

"But I don’t want to burden you, especially with everything you have going on."

"No, don't say that. You are not a burden. I want to wait for you after class. It made me feel connected to you", he insisted, taking a step closer.

You felt your heart flutter at his words, a mix of warmth and uncertainty swirling inside you. You searched his face for any signs of doubt, but all you saw was determination. It was a small gesture, yet it felt monumental at that moment.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes, absolutely".

You walked side by side with Jaehyun, a gentle warmth spread through you, but your shyness began to creep in. The way he looked at you, with genuine interest and kindness, made your stomach flutter. You tried to focus on what to say about your day, but your thoughts felt jumbled.

When you reached the café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and you felt a bit more at ease. Jaehyun held the door open for you, and you stepped inside, your cheeks warming at the little gesture.

“Okay, spill. How was your day?” he asked, leaning casually against the counter as you both waited in line.

You fidgeted with the strap of your bag, glancing at him before looking away, your heart racing.

“Um, it was fine. Just… classes and studying. Nothing too exciting, really.” Jaehyun raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

“Come on, there has to be something interesting. Did you learn anything new?”

You hesitated, feeling a bit shy under his gaze.

“Well, we started a group project in class… and I was kind of nervous about presenting.” Jaehyun nodded, encouraging you with a smile.

“I’m sure you did great. You’re always so prepared. What was the project about?”

As you spoke about the project, your confidence slowly began to build. Jaehyun listened intently, his eyes never leaving yours. The way he focused on you made the words flow more easily, and you found yourself getting lost in the conversation.

“—and then my group members had a million ideas, and I was just trying to keep up,” you laughed, finally feeling a little more comfortable. Jaehyun smiled back, his expression warm.

With each passing moment, your shyness began to melt away, replaced by a sense of connection you hadn’t felt in a while. As you moved to the counter to order, Jaehyun placed his hand on the small of your back, guiding you gently forward. It felt natural, yet electrifying.

“Your turn. What do you want?” he asked, looking at the menu with a playful glint in his eyes.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “Um, maybe a caramel macchiato?”

“Great choice,” he said, his voice light. As he ordered for both of you, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for this moment. Jaehyun placed the order for both of you, you turned to him, eager to ask about his day.

“So, how about you? Anything new from the class?”

But just as the words left your lips, Jaehyun’s gaze shifted. He made eye contact with the cashier, and a small smile crept onto his face—one that made your heart sink a little. You followed his gaze and saw Yeri, who was chatting with another customer, her laughter ringing out. She was Jaehyun's friend and you know the both of them shared a lot of things before he met you. She was even the former vocalist of the band.

You felt a familiar knot of insecurity tighten in your stomach. You’d always felt a twinge of jealousy about Jaehyun’s friendship with her, especially when they shared that effortless connection. You tried to shake off the feeling, but it lingered. He turned back to you, his expression shifting from warmth to concern.

“Uh, Jaehyun?” you said, your voice softer than before. “You know, I… I don’t want to interrupt your time with Yeri if you want to say hi.”

“What? No, it’s not like that at all. I was just—”

“It’s fine, she's your friend anyway” you interrupted, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“No. That's not what I want. I wanted to spend time with you, not anyone else. I promise.”

But as you glanced back at Yeri, who was now exchanging friendly banter with the next customer, the knot in your stomach tightened further. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d rather be with her than standing here with you. The doubt flickered in your mind, and you tried to suppress it.

As the bartender placed the drinks on the counter, his gaze shifted back to you, the sincerity in his eyes reassuring you.

“Y/N, you’re not interrupting anything. I wanted to be here with you, not anyone else.”

You felt a warmth at his words but couldn’t shake the feeling that there were parts of his life he hadn’t shared yet.

“Okay,” you said softly, trying to push the unease aside.

His hand brushed against yours for a brief moment. It sent a spark through you, but doubts lingered, hidden beneath the surface. You wanted to believe him, to trust in the connection you shared, even if shadows from the future clouded his mind.

As you both grabbed your coffees and moved to a cosy corner of the café, Jaehyun’s thoughts drifted momentarily back to Yeri, but he quickly redirected his focus to you. You deserved his full attention, and he was determined to keep it that way.

Later that day, Jaehyun made his way to the practice room, his mind still buzzing from the coffee date. He found Ten already set up, surrounded by scattered sheets of music and a guitar resting against the wall.

“Jaehyun, you’re here!” Ten exclaimed, looking up with a grin.

“Help me with this new song.”

Jaehyun chuckled, settling into a chair across from him.

“What’s the song about?”

"It's called Lie With You. It's about longing for someone. The lyrics explore the feeling of wanting to be close to someone, to share not just the good moments but also the struggles. It’s like… wanting to escape reality together, even just for a moment.”

Jaehyun understood that feeling as he was facing the situation.

“It’s about those fleeting moments when you wish you could freeze time. It’s a mix of love, heartache, and the desire to be understood completely," Ten continued.

“Here,” Ten said, glancing at Jaehyun, “help me with this chorus. I want it to capture that feeling of wanting to lie down with someone, to just be together without the weight of the world.”

As Ten played, the melody unfolded—soft and haunting, weaving through the air like a gentle breeze. Jaehyun felt himself getting lost in the sound, the emotions resonating with his own experiences. Each note seemed to echo the longing he felt for you, the memories still vivid in his mind. His heart raced as he listened to the lyrics; they painted a picture of intimacy and connection—something he yearned for but felt slipping away. As they collaborated, the song transformed into an anthem of love and loss, reflecting everything Jaehyun struggled to hold on to.

“Let’s make it something people can relate to,” Jaehyun suggested, feeling the urgency of his own emotions at the moment. “Something that speaks to the heart.”

Days passed, and Jaehyun and Ten dedicated countless hours to composing the song. It was a truly precious time for Jaehyun—second only to the moments he spent with you.

You made your way to the library, determined to clear your mind and focus on your assignments. With your next class not scheduled for another two hours, you aimed to make the most of your time. Settling into a comfortable spot, you immersed yourself in your work.

As you continued to study, you noticed a familiar figure approaching out of the corner of your eye. There was something about the way he carried himself, the slight hesitation in his steps that hinted at his identity even before you fully registered his face.

As he drew nearer, you lifted your gaze from your work, and there he was—Jaehyun. Recognition sparked instantly, a mix of surprise and curiosity washing over you.

"Jaehyun?" you exclaimed softly, disbelief lacing your voice.

His face broke into a warm smile at the sound of his name.

"Hey there," he greeted, sliding into the empty seat beside you.

Seeing him in the library was a pleasant surprise, and you couldn't help but wonder what had brought him here at this moment.

"I didn't know you had a free period," you chuckled lightly, breaking the ice.

Jaehyun smiled back, his gaze warm and friendly.

"Seems like we have a lot to catch up on then."

Your laughter filled the otherwise quiet library, adding a sense of warmth to the atmosphere.

"So, you're here by yourself?" Jaehyun asked, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, my friends decided to skip class today, so I thought I could use this time for myself."

As you returned to your studies, Jaehyun settled in beside you, sitting quietly without intending to disturb you. You could see him starting to get sleepy, and a small laugh escaped you as he rested his head on the table.

"Sir, you’re not supposed to do this in the library," you teased.

"I know, but I’m so sleepy. Watching you calms me down," he replied, his eyes half-closed.

"Should we go outside or something?" you suggested.

"Let’s just stay here for a moment," he said, slipping his hand into yours under the table, closing his eyes with a content smile.

"Until the librarian kicks us out," he added playfully.

A warm flutter stirred in your stomach at the intimacy of the moment, and you decided to continue studying, feeling both shy and comforted by his presence.

As your relationship with Jaehyun flourished, his creative energy also surged. He spent countless hours in the practice room with Ten, diving deep into songwriting sessions with emotions he felt for you. The bond between Ten and Jaehyun was stronger than ever, as they bounced ideas off each other, turning snippets of melodies into full-fledged songs. Ten often teased Jaehyun about his newfound inspiration.

“You’re different these days. It’s like you’ve got a muse or something” he would say, a knowing grin on his face.

Jaehyun would blush, deflecting the comment, but secretly, he knew that you were the reason behind the spark in his music.

Together, they composed several songs, but one in particular began to take shape—an anthem about love and longing, capturing the essence of what Jaehyun was experiencing with you. He poured his heart into the lyrics, weaving in moments from your time together—late-night study sessions where Jaehyun would playfully nudge you, teasing you about your study habits, while you would gently scold him for his tendency to nap instead of focusing on his music, shared laughter at the café, and those quiet walks through the park.

On days when you visited the practice room, Jaehyun would play snippets of the new songs for you.

“What do you think?”

He’d ask, his eyes searching yours for approval. You’d lean in closer, captivated by the sound.

"Well, I really like it, especially the verse where-",

"Y/N', Jaehyun remind you softly it's okay to be honest with a smile.

"Sorry Jaehyun, I think the lyrics were a bit off",

He chuckled at your honesty, finding it adorable. As he moved closer, he glanced at the sheets you were holding, leaning in confidently. The Neo Club was empty that night; he had chosen this moment carefully, knowing his friends were leaving to give you both some privacy.

You could smell his scent from this distance, and the warmth between you was almost noticeable. Your cheeks flushed as you felt the heat radiating from his presence, brushing the back of your hand against your face. Jaehyun laughed at your shyness, leaning in closer, about to kiss you when suddenly, the door swung open.

Doyoung stepped into the club, he looked confused at the both of you as he tried to process what was happening.

“Well, didn’t know you guys were here,” he said casually, setting his guitar down near the door.

Jaehyun’s annoyance was barely concealed. This was supposed to be his moment with you, and Doyoung’s sudden appearance felt like an intrusion. You shifted uncomfortably, feeling a wave of shyness, your cheeks still warm from the almost-kiss. Doyoung’s eyes quickly landed on the sheet music in your hands.

"Is that 'Lie With You'? Mind if I take a look?"

You nodded slightly and handed the music over to him. Doyoung took the sheets gently, his eyes scanning the page as Jaehyun sighed, clearly trying to maintain his composure. The song was deeply personal to him and Ten, something they had poured their hearts into. He didn’t want Doyoung, no matter how talented, meddling with it.

"We’re still working on it," Jaehyun said, his voice tight with frustration.

"Hmm... some of these lines feel a little too heavy. You could lighten it up a bit, give it more flow. That way, it hits harder emotionally," Doyoung suggested, his tone thoughtful.

Jaehyun’s jaw clenched, but he knew Doyoung wasn’t entirely wrong. His natural charm and musical instinct made it hard to stay irritated.

"We don’t need to lighten it," Jaehyun muttered under his breath, though part of him understood the advice.

You smiled nervously, sensing the tension in Jaehyun but knowing that Doyoung only wanted to help. As the night continued, Jaehyun and Doyoung worked together, exchanging ideas. Despite Jaehyun’s initial frustration, it became clear they made a perfect team, their creative energies blending seamlessly.

As Doyoung suggested changes, Jaehyun felt a tight knot in his chest. He hated the idea of anyone else touching something so personal, yet he had to admit that Doyoung's input made the song stronger. He even suspected that Ten might’ve reached out to Doyoung for help since they’d been stuck on this part of the song for a while.

Just then, Jaehyun glanced over at you. You seemed tired, your eyes slightly drooping as you tried to follow the conversation between him and Doyoung. The long day had clearly worn you down, and Jaehyun noticed the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to stay awake.

He frowned softly, his protective side kicking in.

“Hey,” he called gently, leaning closer to you. “You look exhausted. You should head home and rest.”

You blinked, trying to shake off the fatigue. “I’m okay, I don’t mind waiting for you.”

“It’s fine, really. I’ll walk you back.”

Jaehyun gave you a small smile, appreciating your dedication but knowing you needed the rest. Doyoung, sensing the moment, glanced between the two of you and nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, Y/N, you should rest. We’ve got this for now.”

You hesitated for a moment but eventually gave in, the exhaustion catching up to you. As Jaehyun helped you gather your things, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of affection for you. Even in your tired state, you had been by his side, supporting him and Ten’s work.

“I’ll text you when we’re done,” Jaehyun promised as he gently placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you out of the club.

As you walked out into the quiet night, Jaehyun couldn’t stop himself from glancing at you again, grateful for the moments you shared, even in the simplest of ways.

Without warning, Jaehyun stopped in his tracks, gently pulling you closer by the hand. You looked up, confused but intrigued.

“I owe you something,” he said softly, his eyes twinkling.

“What do you—”

Before you could finish, Jaehyun leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, catching you by surprise. His touch was soft, lingering just long enough to send warmth rushing through you.

"I love you", he whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

You felt your heart flutter, unable to stop the grin from spreading across your face as you whispered back.

"I love you too".

"Doyoung really did great with the lyrics, actually," Ten told Jaehyun as they stepped into the café that evening before he continued.

"I hope you don't have any bad feelings towards him for that. I know how much you worked on that"

Jaehyun sighed, knowing the jealousy he was feeling was childish. It wasn’t about the lyrics or Doyoung’s contribution—it was the way everything was falling into place, just not how he envisioned.

“Do you think we can perform it anytime soon?” Jaehyun asked, trying to shake off the lingering frustration.

“Yeah, it’s good enough. I’ll make one last adjustment tonight.”

As they approached the counter to place their order, Jaehyun's eyes immediately narrowed when he saw Yeri standing behind the cashier. His stomach tightened. He knew Yeri from the future, someone who had stirred complications between him and Y/N, but in this timeline, she wasn’t a problem—yet.

"Oh, hi Yeri", Ten grinned widely.

“Hey, Ten! What can I get you guys?” she asked cheerfully, her smile genuine.

Jaehyun stayed quiet, only nodding, trying not to let his irritation show. He didn’t want to make a scene, especially when Ten enjoyed her company. After placing their orders, they found a quiet table and started conversing about their day. Jaehyun tried to focus on the music, but he couldn’t help but feel uneasy. He wanted to tell Ten so much about the time travel. Though it will only seem like a mad person. Just as their conversation picked up, Yeri suddenly approached their table.

"I have some good news for you guys," Yeri began, excitement clear in her voice.

"The owner's been looking for a band to perform at the café this weekend, and I suggested your band. He’s really interested. So, what do you think? Sound good?"

Ten’s eyes lit up immediately. “That’s perfect! Jaehyun, what do you think?”

Jaehyun glanced at Yeri, still feeling a bit uneasy, but Ten’s excitement was contagious. He forced a smile and nodded.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

Yeri, Ten, and Jaehyun continued chatting about the upcoming gig, Yeri still buzzing with excitement while Ten and Jaehyun discussed the final touches for their performance. The café was warm with the soft hum of conversations and the smell of fresh coffee.

The door swung open just then, and you walked in with your friend, Jimin, after your evening class. You were mid-conversation, talking about the class, unaware of the trio at the corner table.

"I don't know Jimin, collaborating with Doyoung for the festival might not be a good idea", you remarked.

"Why not? He's a really good leader, even my friend Jeno approves it. He can handle the booth, all you need is to commit until the festival"

"To be honest, I don't think Jaehyun will like that idea", you admitted.

“Are you saying you’re scared of hurting your boyfriend’s feelings?”

“Hm, yes. His jealousy can be a bit... intense,” you opened up to Jimin.

"You mean, that Jaehyun?", she said, pointing toward the corner of the café. Your eyes followed her gesture, and your heart skipped a beat.

"Oh gosh, now I'm jealous", you thought to yourself.

Jaehyun, distracted by the conversation, didn’t notice you at first. But as you walked closer, his eyes instinctively found yours. Jimin, sensing the tension, nudged you forward, convinced that you should confront the situation. She clearly didn’t like seeing Jaehyun sitting with Yeri and thought it might hurt you more if left unaddressed.

Yeri, noticing Jaehyun's sudden distraction, glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of you approaching.

"Y/N!", Jaehyun quickly stood up, looking surprised.

He immediately sensed the tension in your expression, and his heart raced. The last thing he wanted was to repeat the mistakes of the past. He was determined to clear things up—something he hadn’t done in the previous timeline.

“Y/N, please listen to me. We were just talking... mostly Ten was doing the talking,” Jaehyun stammered, his nerves getting the best of him. “I was about to call you after class to pick you up—”

He quickly checked his phone to see if he’d missed any messages. “You didn’t text me... but I was going to call.”

"Jaehyun, please sit down. It's okay, really. I’m just here with Jimin. You should enjoy your time with your friends", reaching out for his arms, trying to ease his anxiety.

Jimin, clearly unimpressed, cleared her throat and rolled her eyes in Yeri’s direction. To avoid further awkwardness, you spoke up again, your shyness showing in your voice.

“I just wanted to stop by and say hi,” you said, making brief eye contact with Ten and Yeri. “Enjoy your coffee. Let’s go, Jimin.”

As you and Jimin made your way to the counter to order, you couldn’t help but glance back at Jaehyun. Your eyes met briefly, and despite the tension, a small smile flickered across your lips.

You and Jimin settled at a small table near the window, the warm glow of the café lights casting a comforting ambiance around you. As you sipped your coffee, Jimin leaned in, still buzzing from the earlier encounter.

"I can't believe we walked in on that," she whispered, glancing over her shoulder toward Jaehyun, Yeri, and Ten. "It was like a scene from a drama."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "It’s fine, Jimin. They’re just planning their performance. I trust Jaehyun," you said, though a small knot of discomfort lingered in your chest.

Jimin raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Yeah, but did you see the way Yeri was smiling at him? She’s definitely curious about you."

You shifted in your seat, casting a quick glance back at Jaehyun's table. Yeri was leaning in toward him, her expression inquisitive as she chatted with both him and Ten. You knew Jimin was probably right, but you didn't want to dwell on it. Instead, you steered the conversation back to lighter topics, focusing on the upcoming festival plans and your group project. However, the occasional glance toward Jaehyun’s table revealed that things weren’t as relaxed over there.

Meanwhile, at Jaehyun’s table, Yeri’s curiosity was bubbling over. She had noticed the shift in Jaehyun’s manner the moment you walked in, and she wasn’t about to let it slide. Leaning in with a sly smile, she nudged Jaehyun’s arm.

"So, Jaehyun," she began, her voice teasing, "who was that? Your new girlfriend?", Jaehyun’s face flushed slightly, and he avoided Yeri’s eyes, suddenly feeling flustered.

"Uh, that’s Y/N," he mumbled, trying to keep his voice casual, though he couldn’t hide the affection that seeped into his tone.

"Y/N, huh?" Yeri grinned knowingly, exchanging a look with Ten, who was quietly sipping his coffee but clearly amused by the situation. "She’s cute. I thought there was something going on with the way you jumped up when she came in."

Jaehyun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling like he was caught. "Yeah, we’ve been seeing each other for a while now."

Ten smirked, adding, "Don’t be shy, Jaehyun. You’re usually so smooth. What’s got you so nervous?"

Yeri leaned back in her chair, clearly entertained by Jaehyun’s awkwardness. "You should’ve introduced us properly," she teased. "Now I’m dying to know more about her."

Jaehyun chuckled awkwardly, glancing at you again across the room, where you and Jimin were engaged in conversation. His heart warmed at the sight of you, even though he felt the pressure from Yeri’s teasing.

"Maybe next time," he replied, trying to play it cool.

But Yeri wasn’t about to let it go that easily. She smirked, leaning in once more.

"Sure, but you know, you owe me a proper introduction. She seems important to you."

Jaehyun’s lips curved into a soft smile. "Yeah... she is."

That night, as you and Jimin prepared to leave the café and head back to the dormitory, Jaehyun quickly stood up from his seat, making his way over to you.

“Let me walk you back,” he insisted, his eyes soft but filled with determination.

He glanced at Jimin briefly before turning his attention back to you. You gave him a gentle smile, appreciating his offer but shaking your head.

"It’s okay, Jaehyun. I want to spend some time with Jimin tonight. We have some things to catch up on."

Jaehyun’s brows furrowed slightly, clearly reluctant.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice low as if hoping you might change your mind.

You nodded, reaching out to lightly squeeze his hand. "I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll see you tomorrow."

Still, he didn’t let go of your hand immediately, holding onto it for a moment longer.

"Alright," he finally sighed, though it was clear he wasn’t entirely convinced. "I’ll make it up to you. Tomorrow, we’ll do something special."

A small laugh escaped you as you let go of his hand. "You don’t have to make it up to me, Jaehyun. Just get some rest tonight, okay?"

With one last reluctant glance, Jaehyun nodded.

"Okay," he agreed softly, but his eyes followed you as you and Jimin exited the café, disappearing into the cool evening air.

Jimin, of course, didn’t let the moment pass unnoticed. As the two of you strolled toward the dorms, she teased you with a smirk.

"You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, huh?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "It’s not like that. He just worries sometimes."

Jimin laughed. "Yeah, well, I’d be worried too if I had to compete with you wanting to hang out with me."

You rolled your eyes but smiled, your thoughts lingering on Jaehyun’s promise as you and Jimin continued walking under the night sky.

A few weeks passed, and the days blurred together as Jaehyun, Ten, and Doyoung poured themselves into rehearsals for the gig. Their dedication was admirable, but it left little time for anything else. You had grown accustomed to their late-night practices at the club, often only stopping by to knock on the door just to say goodbye before heading to the dorm.

Jaehyun, in his focus on the performance, had gradually let the memory of time travel slip to the back of his mind, consumed by the present.

But one night, just before the big performance, Jaehyun insisted on spending time with you. He texted you, asking if you could meet him at the club before practice started, and though you knew how busy he was, you agreed.

When you arrived, the club was quiet, an unusual calm settling over the usually bustling space. Jaehyun was sitting on the sofa, one earphone in, waiting for you. As you walked in, he looked up with a soft smile—oh, how much he missed you.

“Come here,” he said, patting the seat next to him. “I want you to hear something.”

You sat down beside him, and he gently handed you the other earphones, getting ready to play the song.

"I’ve been meaning to share this with you. It’s special, and before we perform it for everyone else, I wanted you to hear it first."

You smiled, sensing the significance of the moment as the music began to play. The melody was hauntingly beautiful, filled with raw emotion that pulled you in immediately. As the song progressed, you could feel Jaehyun’s heart poured into every note, every lyric. It wasn’t just a song—it was a reflection of everything he had been holding inside.

When it ended, he looked at you with anticipation, his heart in his eyes.

"So, what do you think?"

Your chest tightened, overwhelmed by the beauty of the song and the intimacy of the moment. You laid your head on his shoulder.

"It’s sad, but… perfect, Jaehyun. Really."

He let out a small, relieved laugh, resting his head against yours.

"I wrote it with you in mind," he admitted softly. "I wanted to create something that captures what we’ve been through, even if it’s just a glimpse of what I feel."

Your heart swelled at his words. You knew this song wasn’t just a performance—it was him sharing a piece of himself with you, something deeply personal before anyone else could hear it. Without realizing it, he gently laid his head in your lap.

"Y/N, let me take a nap for a bit," he murmured.

You knew how hard they had worked, the sleepless nights they spent preparing for this moment, so you simply smiled and let him rest. The two of you stayed like that for a while longer, enjoying the quiet closeness as the night stretched on, the upcoming performance momentarily forgotten.

You and Jimin headed to the café, eagerly waiting for Jaehyun’s gig. The atmosphere filled with excitement, the crowd chattering while you found a table near the stage. Jimin was just as excited as you, if not more. She’d invited a few friends too—Jeno and Jaemin, who arrived not long after you did.

"They’re going to kill it tonight. I can feel it!", Jimin said with a grin, nudging you as she sipped her coffee.

You nodded, feeling both nervous and proud for Jaehyun, Ten, and Doyoung. As they took the stage, the café quieted, all eyes on the trio. The lights dimmed, and the first chords of their song filled the room. Jaehyun stood at the center, his gaze scanning the crowd until it landed on you. He gave a small, subtle smile before focusing back on the performance.

From the first note to the last, they nailed every part of the gig. Jaehyun’s voice was rich with emotion, Ten’s melodies carried the songs effortlessly, and Doyoung’s harmonies added a powerful depth. The crowd was captivated, and you couldn’t have been more proud. Jeno and Jaemin were cheering loudly, while Jimin was clapping along, completely caught up in the performance.

By the time the last song ended, the café erupted in applause, and Jaehyun’s eyes sought yours again. You gave him a beaming smile, knowing how much this moment meant to him.

Later that night, after all the congratulations and farewells, Jaehyun insisted on taking you somewhere special. The two of you walked in the quiet evening. You strolled together until you reached the park, the same place where Jaehyun had once time-travelled—though, at the moment, that fact was entirely forgotten by him.

The fountain trickled softly, and the night felt calm and serene. Jaehyun sat down beside you on a bench, his hand reaching for yours as he sighed contentedly.

"I’m so glad you were there tonight," he said, his voice low and warm. "It meant everything to me."

"I wouldn’t have missed it for the world," you replied, leaning against him.

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, enjoying the stillness of the night. As you admired the fountain's shimmering waters, Jaehyun’s gaze suddenly shifted. His eyes widened, and he squinted into the distance, recognizing a familiar figure.

"Wait here," he said, his tone suddenly serious.

Before you could respond, he took off in the direction of an old man standing a short distance away, gazing at the fountain.

“Hey! Excuse me!” Jaehyun called out, breathless from running. The old man turned slowly, his face illuminated by the moonlight.

“Do you remember me? You told me about the power of music... and things like that," Jaehyun asked, his voice filled with a sense of desperation. The old man studied Jaehyun for a moment before nodding slowly.

“Ah, yes. I see you’ve made it this far.”

Jaehyun’s heart raced as he realized the weight of his wishes.

“I need to understand more. What is happening to me? How long will I be here? I want to be here, please.”

The old man’s expression softened, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"Every choice has consequences. The memories you hold dear shape who you are. Exchange a good memory with another good memory," he muttered, as if lost in thought.

Jaehyun felt a surge of panic.

"What did you mean? I've already traveled through time. What more do I need to do?"

The old man regarded Jaehyun with a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling with wisdom beyond his years.

"Time travel is a delicate balance, my boy. Every action has a consequence, and every memory holds weight," he replied cryptically.

As the old man’s words sank in, Jaehyun began to realize the price of his journey through time. To maintain the balance, a sacrifice would have to be made. Just then, you approached, curiosity flickering in your eyes.

“Jaehyun, who is this?” you asked, sensing the tension. He hesitated, glancing between you and the old man.

“He… he’s someone I met before. He knows things.” Then, a dawning realization crept over Jaehyun. "Wait... you can see him?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, a hint of fear behind them.

"Yes. Jaehyun, I time-traveled with you," you confessed, your voice trembling.

"What?" Jaehyun's mind raced with disbelief.

"I was confused too at first," you continued, "but I realized it when you knew I’d be jealous of Yeri, even before I admitted it."

Jaehyun's breath hitched, tears filling his own eyes. His heart ached, but clarity struck him as he realized he had to act fast. There were other memories to trade—ones that wouldn’t cost him you.

Turning back to the old man, Jaehyun shakily pulled out a small guitar pick that Ten had given him. His fingers trembled as he held it up.

"I'll..." he began, his voice breaking as sobs escaped him, "I'll trade this. Just please… let him remember the song."

With a heavy heart, Jaehyun made the difficult decision to let go of the memories of producing songs with Ten. It tore him apart, but he knew the memories with you were far too precious to risk. He couldn’t afford to lose how far the two of you had come.

The old man studied the guitar pick, nodding solemnly.

"You have chosen wisely, my boy," he said with a reverent tone. But then his expression darkened slightly as he added, "Nothing is perfect. You cannot fix everything. But what is meant for you will find its way back."

Tears streamed down Jaehyun's face as the weight of his decision settled in. He understood now. Some things would always come at a cost, but he was willing to make that sacrifice to keep what mattered most.

"I understand," he whispered, his voice steadier now, though his heart still ached from what he had to lose.

Then, the old man turned toward you, his gaze softening as he saw the tears streaming down your face. You cried harder than ever, and deep down, you knew why.

Jaehyun, still caught up in his own emotions, looked at you with confusion, unable to understand the depth of your sorrow. He furrowed his brow, stepping closer, but before he could say anything, the old man spoke—his voice low, but filled with a quiet understanding.

"You," he addressed you directly, "you had only one precious memory."

Your heart clenched as you tried to stifle your sobs. Jaehyun’s eyes widened as he turned toward the old man, panic rising in his chest. What did he mean? What precious memory?

The old man continued, his eyes never leaving yours. "And that memory," he paused, "was of Jaehyun."

Jaehyun’s face paled. His breath caught in his throat as realization began to sink in. You had time-travelled too, just like him, and to fix the past, to make things right, you had sacrificed the one memory that meant the most to you—him.

"No... no, that can't be," Jaehyun whispered, shaking his head as if trying to shake off the truth. "Why didn’t you tell me?" His voice broke, his confusion now turning into desperation.

You wiped your tears, your lip trembling. “I… I didn’t want you to know. It was the only way to make sure you were happy.”

Jaehyun’s heart shattered as the weight of your sacrifice hit him. You had traded your memory of him—the very essence of everything you had together—just so he could have a second chance. He felt like the ground had been ripped out from beneath him. He tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come.

The old man watched silently, his eyes full of an ancient sadness, knowing the price of love and sacrifice better than anyone.

Jaehyun, overwhelmed with guilt and heartbreak, grabbed your hand, gripping it tightly as if holding on would make it all better.

“But… you’re my everything. You can’t just forget us—forget me.”

You closed your eyes, the tears still flowing.

"I had no choice, Jaehyun. You were my happy memory."

At that moment, Jaehyun felt utterly powerless. You had sacrificed everything for him, and now he was losing the one thing that had made this journey through time worth it. He couldn't imagine a life where you didn’t remember him, where everything you’d built together had been wiped away.

Jaehyun fell to his knees, still clutching your hand, trying to stop the inevitable.

“Please… there has to be another way.”

But deep down, he knew. You were about to forget him.

The old man said nothing, his expression a mix of understanding and sorrow. As he watched you both, the air around you began to shift, and the memories you cherished started to fade like wisps of smoke, dissolving into the night.

Jaehyun felt the world around him blurring. The laughter you shared, the moments of intimacy, the quiet evenings spent together—all began to slip away, replaced by an overwhelming emptiness. He embraces you tighter, desperate to hold on to you, to the memories you had created.

“No! Please, not like this!” he cried, his voice cracking. But his pleas echoed into silence, the weight of the old man’s words sinking in deeper.

“Y/N,” Jaehyun cupped your face, tears streaming down his cheeks.

You held his hand against your cheeks, staring deeply into his eyes.

"It's okay, Jaehyun. It's going to be okay," you said, giving him one last smile.

"You’ll be okay," you muttered softly.

He cried endlessly, holding you tightly. As the last flicker of your shared memories faded, you felt an overwhelming sense of loss. The love that had once filled your heart was now replaced with a hollow ache. You looked into Jaehyun’s eyes, seeing the pain reflected there, and at that moment, something deep within you whispered that you would always carry a piece of him, even if you couldn’t remember why.

"Y/N, it's me. Jaehyun. Jaehyun ah," he said, taking your hand and placing it on his cheek, searching for recognition in your eyes.

The old man remained a silent witness to the sacrifices made in the name of love. As the memories faded into oblivion, Jaehyun and you were left standing in the void, grasping for something that was slipping away.

And then, just as suddenly, everything went dark.

The night was dark, the quiet sinking in as you strolled through the park, seeking respite from the bustling city. Finding a nearby bench, you settled in, closing your eyes to immerse yourself in the surrounding sounds, a tranquil backdrop to your thoughts.

Just as you began to lose yourself in the moment, a soft melody captured your attention, drifting from a nearby café. Intrigued, you followed its enchanting strains until you arrived at a small, dimly lit venue where a talented musician held sway. His voice, akin to honey, wove stories with each note, captivating all who listened.

As the performer sang, you were entranced by the lyrics and the emotions they evoked. The song spoke of longing and desire, resonating deeply within your soul. Entering the café, you took a seat, utterly spellbound by the performance.

"Would you like to order?" the waiter asked, breaking the spell with a smile.

"No, thank you," you replied, shaking your head, though he chuckled in response.

"It's on the house tonight. Are you sure?"

He persisted as you relented, curiosity piqued by the gesture. You shifted your gaze to him, glancing at his name tag.

Jaehyun.

"Alright then, Jaehyun",you said, those words striking him with unexpected emotion.

"I'll have a peach tea," you continued.

As Jaehyun fetched your drink, tears threatened to spill from his eyes. He quickly wiped them away before he could sense it. You sensed the song nearing its end and halted him before he left.

"Sorry, but could you tell me the name of this song?"

"Sure, it's 'Lie With You.' The performer wrote it himself."

"It's a beautiful song."

"Yes, it truly is," he agreed, reminiscing about his time with you.

--⩇⩇:⩇⩇--

#jaehyun #jaehyun angst #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun scenarios #nct 127 #nct scenarios #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun x y/n #jaehyun x you

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beneaththebirches · 2 days

Text

Liability: Part 1

Pairing: College Student!Rafe Cameron x Cousenlor!Reader

Summary: Rafe gets himself into a bit of a bind with one of the professors at Duke and is forced to see an on-campus counselor, someone he was very set on hating. But she’s extremely hard to hate.

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, mentions of drugs.

A/n: First of all, I want to mention that this fic is an AU type fic; it will only include Rafe’s mildly destructive behavior and daddy issues but this does not follow allow with the Outerbanks storyline. This is a repost from my original account @sublimecatgalaxy!

“So, what brought you to Duke?”

My head tilts curiously at him, eyes trailing over his frame as he desperately tries to not tremble like a leaf. He’s either drunk, high or anxious (or all of the above), his eyes flickering around the dimly lit room, his eyes momentarily locking with the lava lamp in the corner of the room. When he looks around, he chooses to not look directly at me but instead at the wall behind me, knee bouncing anxiously as he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck.

He resembles something close to agitation or anxiety and has since he walked in the room twenty minutes ago, not caring to say hi or introducing himself but instead just sat down on the couch across from me and decided to take his sentence in silence. It’s to be expected, especially from someone with his track record. I heard a little bit about him from the other faculty in the office and his professors, mixed reviews on his behavior but how, miraculously, his grades show the opposite.

Crossing my legs, I ready the notebook in my lap, pen tapping against the paper as I wait for him to answer my nth question of the night. After a few minutes of uncomfortable and unfortunate silence, he clears his throat and takes a deep breath before adjusting himself on the couch, eyes flickering up to look at the ticking clock on the wall.

“‘s a good college.” He shrugs simply, eyes flickering up to mine briefly as I let out a small sigh of relief at the sound of his deep voice. His back cracks as he leans back into the couch, biting at his lip as he watches my pen scribble aimlessly across my notepad. I can tell he wants to ask what I’m writing, which is the reason why I lifted the pen to draw a simple smiley face in the first place, knowing the thought of me analyzing him would drive him crazy.

“I’ve seen your grades, you should be proud.” The shocked uptick of his brows makes me laugh quietly to myself, taken back by his response to the simple praise. He nods sternly, a faint blush spreading across the tops of his cheekbones. “So why the self sabotage?” I quiz and his brows furrow cutely.

“What?”

“Keying a professor’s car?” His eyes immediately roll at the recollection of his transgressions, the events that brought him to my office three times a week. There’s a part of me that thinks he’s embarrassed, eyes low as he toys with the thick ring on his thumb but I can see the desperate need to defend himself behind his eyes, but instead he chooses the path of least resistance.

“Got angry.” He answers simply but it’s not enough for me.

“Yeah, you have a history of that.” I sigh, placing his records on the table in front of him, giving up the gimmick of ‘good cop’, trying to get through to him as a counselor, but it took very little time to realize my coworkers were right- he’d never trust my authority- the little authority I have. He picks the papers up tentatively, almost looking at me with a ‘should I be seeing this?’ look but indulges anyways, flipping through the pages with a tight jar.

Folding my legs beneath me, a sad smile spreads across my lips as he tosses the sheets back onto the table in front of me, his fists clenching in his lap. I can’t tell if his anger stems from insecurities regarding his own actions or if he’s angry that others have had a view into his darker past. I can tell that he’s a closed off guy, that he doesn’t open up unless it’s mandatory and even then, he attempts desperately to not share, to not open up.

“Look, Rafe, you have to do this- talk to me, I mean. You’re lucky you got mandatory counseling instead of mandatory jail time.” I laugh, trying to desperately ease the tension in the room but he doesn’t crack, just stares down at the packet of paper between us with uneasy eyes. But after a few minutes, my staring breaks through his tough exterior, a heavy sigh leaving him as he finally looks up at me, taken back by my comfortable stance. He mirrors me, folding a leg over his other before tossing his hands up in surrender.

“What do you want from me?”

“Answer the questions I’ve gotta ask you, ask questions of your own- hell, talk about football or something that’s bugging you.” He cringes at the offer, his eyes fluttering shut to briefly imagine what it would be like if he had taken the punishment the professor originally wanted to force upon him but instead he’s stuck with the peppiest counselor he’ll ever encounter.

“Are you an actual therapist?” He asks curiously, attempting to take a jab at my credentials but my smile only grows, happy that he’s taking a step in the right direction.

“I have a masters degree in psychology.” My finger jabs up at the wall to his left, blue eyes following my direction to three diplomas on the wall.

I certainly never expected to end up in a university, tending to the most fucked up age group in the country- my generation. I wanted to go into forensics, to get into the grittiness of the mental psyche but you’d be amazed by the messed up shit you see on college campuses- the dorms, the streets late at night, the blackmail and betrayals. Some of the students that I see, like Rafe, are in mandatory counseling, probably to heal from academic issues or destructive tendencies. But others are girls looking for a way out of toxic relationships, young students who wish so desperately to come out to their parents, or the occasional meltdown where a student just needs me to listen.

Maybe Rafe needs someone to just listen.

Either way, I’d never go back and change anything that led me to this couch right now.

“A masters- how old are you anyways?” He asks, suddenly confused at the math as he leans towards the diploma to look at the year it was dated. With a shocked huff, he turns back to me with wide eyes, elbows resting on his knees and I let out a small bashful laugh.

“I’m 23.”

“Oh.” He mutters, shifting in his seat before adding, “I’m 20.” A fond smile stretches across my lips at his subtle attempt to connect, his quiet voice almost boyish and innocent. I’m not sure the connection was intentional or if he’s sizing me up but either way, the realization in our closeness in age sparks something in him, his discomfort seeming to fade more and more as our times goes on.

“I know. I have your chart.” I lift the binder from beside me into the air, waving it back and forth.

“What else is in there?” He asks, fingers rubbing along his jaw as his eyes seem to focus on his name that’s spelled across the front of the binder in big black letters.

“You’re 20, you have a 3.6 GPA, you’re majoring in Developmental Psych- which is interesting to me.” I snort, wanting nothing but to dive deeper into his psyche and understand why a smart, handsome athlete is majoring in something as specific as developmental psychology. They say people go into a psych degree to learn something about themselves, their past or their family. So, in Rafe’s case, which is it? “You’re a tight-end on our varsity football team, you came from the Outer Banks-” There’s a sense of tension that thickens the atmosphere around us at the mention of his hometown, his shoulders rolling and head tilting so he can direct his attention out the window to look at the setting sun, his strong jaw squared. “I can also see that you spent two nights in jail, you’ve been arrested for drug possession and illegal possession of a weapon-”

“You’ve got my full rap-sheet over there?” He snaps, voice no longer playful but instead he’s seething, brows furrowed as I pause, eyes widening at him briefly, almost asking him ‘may I continue’ without actually saying it. I fight the urge to ask him all of my questions at once; ‘why are you such a troublemaker?’, ‘why the need for drugs?’, ‘why’d you leave your hometown?’- but instead I bite my tongue.

“You’re not giving me anything else to go off of.” I whisper tiredly, anxiously looking up at the clock, wondering if we’ll even end up getting anywhere in this session and/or if I’ll be able to count it as a part of his punishment. A look of realization passes through his expression, his handsome face relaxing with a gentle nod. “You’re not exactly an open book.” He smiles sadly to himself, eyes focused down at his lap.

Take the path of least resistance, Rafe.

“What do you wanna know?” He gives in, clasping his hands in front of him as I grin, prepared to take full advantage of my power and make him laugh, something I’ve heard he doesn’t do often.

“What’s your favorite color-”

“Oh now you’ve overstepped.” He says, dead serious, but after a few moments of silence he breaks into quiet laughter, a shocked scoff leaving me at his teasing. “My favorite color- really? I keyed a car and this is my punishment?” He asks incredulously, scooting to the edge of his seat, the distance between us only lessening as I bite back a nervous smile, focusing on the job at hand- my job at hand.

“The point of counseling is to have breakthroughs and to form a relationship based on trust and open communication.” He cringes at my explanation, a look of discomfort passing through his eyes as he sucks in a breath. “You don’t seem like the trusting type but I’m willing to take my time.” My voice comes out ten times more flirtatious than I intended it to but it causes his whole body to pause, eyes looking up at me with a teasing look, the gears behind his eyes to turn. “To be honest, I have a bit of a habit of growing on people.” He snorts, biting at his lip.

“I gathered that.” He breathes, running his fingers through his hair before giving it a small tug.

“Are you saying I’m growing on you, Cameron- it’s been like a half an hour.” I tease, loving the innocent blush that covers his pale cheeks as he instantly tries to deny, head shaking immediately in defiance. It’s hard to imagine him doing all of the bad things I know he’s done, things that are more extreme and way beyond vandalism. He seems almost awkward at times, boyish and bashful as he’s slowly sinking into the comfort of my office and my prying- far from the man depicted in his records.

“New record?”

“New record for sure.”

“Does that mean I’m free to go?” He quizzes and he blows out a breath, rubbing his clammy hands against the tops of his jeans. I ponder letting him go ten minutes early but there’s a part of me that isn’t quite ready to set him free from my clutches just yet.

“Sure.” His eyes light up at my agreement but before he can stand, I hold up a pointed finger at him, urging him to sit his butt back down. “On one condition.” He agrees almost immediately before knowing my true demand, head bobbing in an agreeable nod.

“Shoot.”

“Hand over your phone.” His face pales at my instructions, eyes staring at my open palm that sticks out to him, waiting for him to do what I said. He looks like a deer in headlights right before a catastrophic crash, tongue slipping out to wet his cracked lips as he stutters.

“Wha-”

“Give it.” I ask again, stern voice forcing a shaky, nervous laugh from him as he goes fishing in his pocket. He hands it over to me without any questions, his eyes watching me like a hawk as I go into his contacts, adding myself as ‘best counselor’. “Only call or text if you’re having an emotional emergency and/or feel like doing something mildly self destructive.” I laugh but as I hand back his phone, he just shakes his head, brows furrowed in confusion as he stares down at the contact.

“Why?”

“Why what?” I ask and he shrugs. “Why care?” The nod he gives me is almost sad, my heart aching in my chest at the thought of him being so out of touch when it comes to having people that care about him, people that want to see him succeed and to not key professors’ cars. “Because, it’s what I do. Get used to it.” Slipping his phone back into his pocket, I make my way to my feet and he does the same, awkwardly shuffling towards the door. His hand hesitates to reach out towards the handle, neck craning to look back at me with a desperate expression.

“You know that’s like asking a fish to breathe air, right?”

“Better learn.” I shrug, crossing my arms across my chest as he huffs, pouting like a child. Reaching out, I push him playfully towards the door as he groans, head tilting back at his steps out into the busy hallway. “Behave!”

“You got it!”What a liar.

#rafe #rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #au!rafe au!rafe x reader #the outerbanks #the outerbanks fic #the outerbanks au

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anhonest-puck · 3 days

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more anderperry because i miss them (under the cut, 630 words) (also in an au where lettermans are a thing and not achievement pins or whatever 😭)

about a week or so after neil died, his mom had come up to welton to help todd clean out his stuff. over the few hours she was there, the two had bonded quite well. todd sharing his story with her (this being a big feat for him, he’d never been good at telling people about his childhood). around the end, they had finally come to his things that he’d used or worn the most often. some things in the pile were his favorite shoes, a childhood plushie that he insisted that he couldn’t sleep without, and his wallet. also in the pile of things that laid on neil’s old bed was his tattered, worn (but well loved) letterman. todd loved neil’s letterman, nagging neil to get to wear it every chance he got.

“neil i’m cold, can i borrow it one more time?” of course, neil would always cave and say yes, but todd savored every moment with his jacket on. to him, it was a promise. a promise of “i’ll be with you no matter what. even when i’m not there physically, i’m there; supporting you every step of the path you take.” it was like a long hug from neil. he enjoyed every minute with it on, basking in its warmth and comfort. it smelled like home. because to him, neil was home.

“so what would you like to do with it?” mrs perry muttered. she held it up. there in his right pocket, where he’d always put his hand, was a small slip of paper. she took it out gently and read the front of the slip out loud: “to: toddy” oh god.

“i think this is for you then?” she sighed, handing the note and the jacket over to a rather speechless todd. he timidly opened the note. the writing was scribbled, but somehow the scribbled letters felt like home. home, home, home.

“toddy,

i know that this whole situation seems like absolute shit. i’m sorry. i’d understand it if you’d never forgive me; however, i know how much you loved my jacket (i noticed, you weren’t slick). so as my final parting gift, i wanted to give this to you. i hope this letter doesn’t go unnoticed, and you toss my jacket under the bed, but if you read this: know that i love you. nothing will ever change that. i’ll miss you. stay safe for me, alright toddy bear?

from, neil.

dated: december 4th, 1959.”

from that moment todd knew that he had planned his death ahead of time. it wasn’t a ‘final hurrah’ like he had previously thought. but god, why didn’t he tell todd? maybe he had thought that it was too much of a burden. was he angry? no, anything but angry. he was upset. he left todd. alone.

it was absurd of him to even think about tossing something so valuable and meaningful into a place where it would simply collect dust and be forgotten about, which wasn’t what neil deserved. his memory deserved to be hung up and shown to the whole world, the patches of sports he’d played and clubs he was a part of displayed in all their ragged but beautiful glory.

todd didn’t know how long he’d sat there, staring at the note, but by the time mrs perry snapped at him to bring him back down to earth, he’d noticed that there were several tear stains on the page. he had read it and reread it over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. he finally let out a small laugh.

“toddy bear… really neil?” he giggled through tears.

and just like he used to, neil had made todd smile for the last time.

#it’s more angst i’m sorry (maybe)#it’s another bittersweet one give me grace loves 😞#dead poets society #the dead poets society #the dead poets #dead poets society fandom #dead poets society fanfic #dps #dps fandom #dps fanfiction #neil perry #todd anderson #mrs perry #anderperry

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oldiesstationlover11607 · 2 days

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🎶I want to saaaayyyy…hello🎶 (How I haven’t used that one yet is incredible).

The day I run out of various hello lyrics and jokes will truly be a sad day in Tumblr history. Anyways, hello! It’s me. 💛. OMG I absolutely loved what you wrote for my last request. Tyler is just something else this tour man. Idk what he is eating, but he is just no filter and I live for it. Honestly, that oneshot might be one of my favorites from you (and that’s saying something because all your works are bangers).

So, you said you were willing to write Spooky Jim so I am going to torture you with my ideas because I feel like Josh’s Blurryface persona isn’t explored enough and I just think he looks good in red eyeshadow 🤷🏼‍♀️. I was wondering if you could maybe do an angsty oneshot where the reader is exposed briefly to Spooky Jim, but Josh quickly takes back control. However, Josh is horrified by that side of him showing so he sort of shuts the reader out. Eventually, the reader manages to convince him that she isn’t going anywhere.

I’ll be honest, I’m very excited to see how you do Spooky Jim, even if it is only briefly. ☺️

Spooky Jim - Spooky!Josh x Reader

Relationship: Spooky Jim/Josh × Reader

Warnings: Swearing, choking, violence, crying - lots of angst

Word Count: 791 - thought this would be perfect for a short blurb type piece so whipped this up in he back of my class lol

A/N: Hope this is okay! Sorry it took so long!

The banging had been ongoing for hours, each hit and crash seeping through the walls that I thought were thicker than this. My head was throbbing and my brain felt like it was swelling within my skull. Josh and I had moved in together a few months ago and we’d been planning to build a soundproof studio so he could work on his music without it ringing throughout the house. But with tour coming up, he had to practice–there was no changing that. I always tried my hardest to be patient with the drumming and I definitely didn’t mind it behind Tyler’s voice and accompanied by a backing track but by itself it just felt like noise–constant noise that never ever stopped. I wasn’t against his music or him practicing–that wasn’t the case at all–but when it’s 10:30 pm and I’m trying to get a paper done, that’s a different story. I could feel every crash vibrate through the floor and into my body as I tried to focus and finish my research before the deadline. Closing my laptop and climbing out of our bed, I marched down to the basement as each step fell in time with the beats. The closer I got to the banging, the more I realized there was a backing track playing, a weak and gentle hum hidden beneath the drums. I leant against the staircase, waiting for him to finish the track which I’d recognised as ‘Heavydirtysoul.’ Something was off though, each hit of the kit seemed to get louder and harder as the song progressed, causing my ears to hurt. The banging continued, Tyler’s voice just peaking through the drums. Bang! Crash! Bang! Each hit caused a painful pinch in each of my ears until a loud snap rang through the room. Both red painted drumsticks in his hands snapped plainly in half, small splinters of wood flying across the kit. I gently placed my palm on Josh’s back, the gray shirt he was wearing slightly damp with sweat. He flinched violently, turning around and grabbing my wrist tightly. His fingers burned into my skin, the tips likely to cause a line of bruises.

“What?” he spat, eyes completely bloodshot.

“I was… uh… drums… headache?” I asked, completely in shock at the pain in my wrist. Josh stared at me blankly as if he was turning over thoughts in his head.

“You want me to stop?” he smirked, standing up and throwing what was left of his drum sticks to the floor. I nodded slowly, desperately trying to figure out what was wrong. Very slowly he started to walk us up against the wall, my head slamming, causing a sharp wince to escape my mouth. “Do you think I have the time to care about your silly little headache Y/N? Do you think I’m not busy and need to practice Y/N?” he shouted. I could feel my heart thumping desperately in my chest, head rushing through possible ways to get out of his grip. He brought his other hand up to my throat, running his fingers across the rings of my trachea causing my eyes to widen in fear. He’d never tried to hurt me in the past. Josh was one of those people who would never hurt a fly, even when he was stressed out. My breath was shaky as tears poured from my eyes and I tried to pick my next words carefully.

“Josh?” Almost immediately his expression changed from an intense stare into pure fear.

“You need to leave,” he said, taking four large steps away from me. Something had changed when he heard his name, something important.

“What?” I questioned, my voice raw. I could see two things out of the mirror in the back corner of the room. One: My neck had a large red mark in the shape of Josh’s right hand. Two: Josh’s hands were both shaking behind his back.

“I said get the fuck out Y/N! Leave! Get out!” he screamed. With a heaving breath I ran up the stairs and out the front door, not a single thought in my head. There was nothing to think about, either I stayed down there with him and he could hurt me again or I could leave and be safe–and I wasn’t going to pick the first option. I ran and ran and ran until I found myself on the side of a busy road halfway to Tyler’s house. Car after car passed me as I stumbled in the direction of where I could remember his house being–that was the only place I could go. It was completely dark outside and the only lights were the occasional car and street lamp that I passed. As I reached into my back pocket for my phone I felt nothing–it was empty. Shit. Tyler’s house wasn’t too far from where I was and in a split second decision I decided to sprint there. I wasn’t going to be stuck out on the side of the road alone at 11:00pm. I ran and ran and ran until I found myself on Tyler’s front porch. The lights were on which I’d found odd given Jenna was on a trip with the girls and Tyler usually had the lights off when he was home alone. The night air was crisp, the cold air swallowing me whole as it circulated through my lungs. I stepped up to the door raising my fist to knock before the door opened, Tyler standing on the other side completely dressed and fully in black.

“Hey,” he smiled, holding the door open for me. He clearly noticed the look of shock on my face as he reached for my hand and helped me inside. Every soft light in the house was turned on, the ambience calming and welcoming.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be here. I’ll go.” He tightened his grip on my hand slightly telling me to stay where I was.

“He said you’d probably end up here,” he sighed, leading us to the upstairs studio with the large windows–I loved that room.

“Wait, you talked to him?” I paused in the door frame, Tyler walking into the studio and turning on the neon lights. He nodded, sitting down right in front of the wall of windows.

“Of course I did. He called me the second you left the house,” he explained. I slowly made my way across the room till I was sitting next to him, my knees pressed flat against my chest.

“So he told you what he did?” I sighed, looking out across the property.

“He told me what happened, yes. But it wasn’t him, I’m telling you that wasn’t him,” he looked down at me.

“I’m pretty sure the man with his hand around my throat was Josh, Tyler,” I snapped. In a complete state of shock I surrendered, Tyler pulling me in as I wept messily into his shirt. My chest was heavy as tears fell and I took quick breaths.

“Y/N… it’s more complicated than that,” he rubbed my back.

“He… he… Josh…I–” I sobbed, each word muffled into his chest.

“You need to rest. We’ll talk about this in the morning,” he declared, moving to get up but I shifted my weight so I stayed on the floor.

“Tyler, I can’t–we–please,” I sighed and he nodded, sitting back down.

“Do you want me to tell you what really happened or do you want to wait for Josh?” He checked his phone as if anyone would be trying to reach him at this hour.

“I’m not going near him again so just tell me,” I huffed, wiping the tears from my face. He nodded before starting.

“You know Blurryface and how I have control over him most of the time?” I stared blankly at him trying to figure out where he was going with this. “Josh has a blurryface too except he’s called Spooky Jim. From what it sounds like, you met him tonight.” This couldn’t be true. If this was true then he would’ve told me, we’ve been together for a year, he would’ve told me.

“No,” I scoffed, “that’s not fair… he–he wouldn’t–no.”

“I told him to tell you sooner but clearly he didn’t,” he sighed. If it was true then I couldn’t blame Josh for any of it. I loved him more than anything and I was going to stay with him–be there for him–because he needed me.

“You’re sure?” I ran a hand through my hair, my palms sticky with sweat. “Yep,” he nodded. I needed to call him. I needed to see him. Anything to tell him we were okay. Tyler noticed me looking around the room and pulled out his phone. “He’s not gonna want to talk to you for a while Y/N. I’m sure Jenna’s told you about the first time Blurryface came out that I ghosted her for three weeks. He’s going to need time,” he started.

“At least let me send him a text. My phone is back at the house,” I begged. He nodded, passing me the phone.

“Keep it short. I can stop by the house tomorrow to pick up anything you need,” he spoke, getting up and leaving the room. I pressed Josh’s contact photo, one that Tyler had taken from their most recent tour. The most recent messages about an upcoming photoshoot. I started to type up my message.

‘Hey. It’s Y/N’ (deleted)

‘I’m at Tyler’s’ (deleted)

‘I miss you’ (deleted)

‘Josh?’ (deleted)

‘I’m safe. I love you and I’m always here for you. Call me when you’re okay. I love you - Y/N’ (sent)

Requests open!

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linguisticparadox · 2 years

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"Van Helsing is laconic" okay is that because he's tired/stressed/concentrating very hard on Mina's condition in case she turns

or does he only get Weird around Jack

#dracula #dracula daily #jack seward #abraham van helsing #original #my personal interpretation of their dynamic is that 90% of what vh does around jack is specifically to fuck with him #bc it's hilarious to watch jack try to figure it out #and also maybe as a sort of meat pumpkin for the nerd boy #'maybe seward should try being studied like a bug sometime and see how he likes it' what do u think van helsing has been DOING #'pet student' oh honey u are in fact his favorite psychological study #vh saw a young man who was eager to please and DESPERATE to look like a Sane Normal Heterosexual Man #and said 'I could fix him OR I could write a paper on what's wrong with him' and he went for the latter #but he never got around to writing the paper

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autisticlee · 6 months

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If things for non-verbal communication helps you I'd say go for it. Others saying you're not suffering enough to make things easier for you aren't living your life. Do what helps you.

even if I did, the world around me isn't very accommodating. I know all people in my life wouldn't be accepting of it. I don't go out much or have many friends. don't talk where I volunteer but I told them on the form I signed up on that I wouldn't talk and they're surprisingly accepting of it. don't talk at work, but work with my mom so she talks for me basically. the times I would need it would be very hard to use. not sure if I could do it with phone calls or video calls. am known to not call back for important things because dont answer my phone and will try to email them instead and no one wants to answer emails. will beg them not to call in message. they leave voice mail saying they got my message so call them back..... have video calls with my therapist and don't know how i'd use it for that. could help for in person doctor appointments but doctors are so impatient and want me in and out fast, don't know if it would improve much. I already never get to say all I need and non verbal communications is slow. don't know how twitch chat would react, so might be the only viable option...people that know me might be weirded out but whatever. new people might make fun of a robot voice but whatever x2 if I make it part of my "thing" they can deal with it especially if I cam finish making a vtuber and make that their "voice" maybe.... would be hard when playing games having to stop to type and won't say things enough so kinda same problem.....hmmm. could maybe at least work for art streams? 🤔

#sorry for rambling. just working it out in my head #wish it would be easier but world isnt very accomodating so dont know how to navigate that #ah. remembering as a kid desperately wishing i could learn sign language and teach everyone around me so i could acrually communicate #but didnt have internet and couldnt find books for it and no one wanted to learn it for me either #was excited to take it in high school but they got rid of a bunch of classes because not enough funding and cant afford teachers :/#is alternative communication easier for me if hurdles it has are exhausting too? just emailing places is very stressful and tiring #and they never accommodate that. either ignoring or calling anyway! cant get a prescription because they dont read emails!#S I G H #talking feels so hard for me but am told don't count as semiverbal/semispeaking. makes me wonder how hard is for actual semispeakers #or dare i say....would i actually count and just got wrong info because i explain bad...idk.#am wondering if its common where people get mad because You Can Make Mouth Sounds So I Only Listen Of You Speak!#used to write in notebook to try communicating at school. people say they wont read and had teacher tear paper up and force speech #he got no speech.#pretty sure using aac would be similar “use your voice. i wont listen to that! i know you can talk!” people irl are ignorant and not nice #why this post take 45 minutes to make....typing is tiring 😅#so used to trying to typer perfect so people understand better and am known to be really good writer. but. so tiring....#maybe should try shorter wordings. is easier. hope people understand. uhhdhhdhssdhhdbdhefhf tired

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quatregats · 10 months

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Current Situation would actually probably be solved if I stopped looking to Projects for all my satisfaction in life

#i wrote out a list of the things i would need to research to write the *fics* that i want to work on #let alone my actual Official Grad School Projects #of which i have several other ideas in the works besides the ones which i'm actually doing for final papers #and then of course there are several original stories i want to write too but those are who knows how far out #current thing i've been spinning around in my head is writing something about lascars on east india company ships #(specificallly i have set my heart on writing a story about a mutiny on board one of them which ties in with Indian History happenings #in the general outside world and everything sort of being in a process of change (have not decided on an era yet hence Vague)#and also the main characters are a nayar boy and mappila muslim boy who he has a huge crush on and they get a love story)#not really sure how to make this story work at all because the amount of things i'd want to know for it #involve several decades of research probably to do it well #but hey that's never stopped me!#not to mention the fact that i started reading about 18th c. conceptions of sex and now want to work more on hornblower top surgery fic #with more fun and spicy early 1800s medical debates and such #and also i want to work on my stephen getting captured by the french but it's canto jo i la muntanya balla fic #which *also* involves lots and lots of research so ughhhh #i wonder how i got into this situation. i wonder why everything feels like So Much 🤔🤔🤔 could not be my fault at all #perce rambles

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orcelito · 2 years

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I'm building up a rapport with the newest trans coworker. He's been here for a month or two now and he's pretty cool. Definitely in his sadboy era (judging by the music he listens to, which is SO me at age 20 ish. So like mood). Quiet, but with a wry sense of humor that's been coming out more lately.

I am very definitely out as Not Straight & he has seen this pretty clearly. Also since I'm in management I saw his birth certificate as part of paperwork stuff, so like. He's never upfront told me, but I know he's trans. I've never breathed a word of it to anyone, even to him tbh, so I hope he reads that as a good indicator that I'm Chill

I was complaining yesterday about how heavy the ginger juice was and he was just like "..Gender juice?" As in he misheard me and was genuinely confused what I was talking about. And I was just like. "Oh yeah. Gender Juice. Ya kno." Idk just one of those stupid things that purely cis ppl wouldn't joke about. So I rly hope he's getting not cis vibes from me. Bc I am not out as nonbinary at work bc Oof but like. We r Brothers, him and I. Maybe someday I can mention it. Idk

#speculation nation #like i can imagine him being nervous at me asking to see his birth certificate #it's part of identity verification and whatever. kinda stupid but Legality stuff. it's a business.#him handing me this paper that says Female. and me glancing at it like. Noted. but not saying it. and just passing it back.#if we were alone maybe i wouldve asked but we were out in the store lobby with other ppl around. of course i wasnt gonna say anything.#a few days later tho on his first shift. i kinda Subtly asked him?? but not outright #his name is kinda gender neutral in its full form. but for his training sheet i asked 'so do you want me to write it as [nickname] or...?'#the nickname being a shortened masculine form of the name. which i heard co assistant manager use but i wanted to make sure #and in that question was kinda the like. Very subtle. 'i know it said female on ur thing but say ur male & thats what we'll respect here'#i honestly feel rly glad for this guy that hes got me (y'all know) and now manager in training is also bi #it's honestly a really gay store lmfao. i really love it.#the owner isnt so great at respecting trans ppl. not in a purposeful disrespect way. he just does not get it.#messes up on pronouns like. All The Time if he knows someone is trans. he's never said anything transphobic. hes just kinda clueless #but he hasnt messed up on this guy's pronouns at all bc we havent told him ❤#literally irrelevant. we've dealt with the paperwork and took care of it all. so as far as i know only me and her know about it #to the point where during the xmas party he was the only guy in attendance and smth about dicks came up #and one of the girls joked about how he looked a lil nervous in the like. 'oh no dont threaten my dick' kind of way #i cannot give proper context bc i honestly do not remember it. but it wasnt meanspirited or anything #it was in the way of her acknowledging him as a guy in that cisnormative way of assuming The Guy that is present #will of course be the one with the dick #and i didnt say anything about it then either. but i do hope it was a nice gender affirmation moment for him #that she so thoroughly thinks of him as a guy that she assumes he'd have everything that most guys do. if that makes sense.#she's a nice person so im sure if she did know he was trans she'd be chill with it. but ultimately she doesnt need to know.#i probably wouldve picked up signs of him being trans myself. but also. i am trans.#so i know the subtle kind of signs that cis ppl dont necessarily know.#so i clocked it. and i confirmed it with the birth certificate. but i have not told Anyone #i do wanna talk about it with him. someday #today we ended up talking about covid at one point & i mentioned how i got it at the start of june.#and i lamented it being the start of pride month & how homophobic it was #and he was just like. full understanding. idk i love the solidarity. gotta talk to him more about this sometime.

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earlgreytea68 · 4 months

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Okay. It's time for an AI rant.

My nephew is 13 years old. Whenever he writes a paper for school, I check it over and fix all of his mistakes for him. He said to me, "Maybe I'll proofread your paper for you in exchange," meaning one of the scholarly articles I write for work. I said, "Cool," and gave him the file. And he said, "Well, this is full of errors! See, you always say you have a lot to correct on my stuff, and look at all the stuff you got wrong!" And I said, surprised, "What? Where?" Because I'm sure there are typos in the draft I sent him, but not, like, that many.

And then he pointed to the screen and said, "Look at all the blue and red lines you have."

And I said, "Yeah, but those are wrong. Like, those are blue and red lines I'm ignoring because the computer is wrong." And then I paused and added, "You know you can't proofread a paper by just looking at the red and blue lines, right?" And he gave me the blankest look, because that clearly is EXACTLY what he thinks. And it became even clearer suddenly why, whenever I correct something on his paper, his immediate reaction is, "It didn't have a blue or red line."

There's a very good reason for that: THAT'S BECAUSE THE COMPUTER ISN'T SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW THAT IT WAS WRONG.

I am so tired of being sold the idea that computers are better than humans and so we should just outsource everything to them, which is clearly the lesson my nephew is absorbing in U.S. middle school. COMPUTERS ARE NOT BETTER THAN HUMANS. Like, maybe they are better at humans at crawling through rubble to find people trapped inside. They are also better at preserving things in a searchable format. Things like that. Very limited circumstances.

I don't want to sound alarmist but everything I hear about people using generative AI freaks me out. It's not just that I'm freaked out by people being like, "I use it to write novels!" (Although I don't see how they do, I have tried to have it write fiction for me and the output was truly terrible.) But I recognize my bias around creative writing and so no one needs to credit my views on artificial writing. But! Other things are alarming, too! "I use it to brainstorm x, y, or z." But...why? Why not just...use your own brain...to...brain...storm? The computer doesn't even have a brain to brainstorm with! And you might be like, "But it comes up with things that my brain would never think of!" So would other people! You could also brainstorm with other people! Or even through Google to see what other people have thought before you (not AI). Please don't belittle the wonder of thinking.

I just feel like the marketing around generative AI boils down to "Wouldn't it be easier not to use your own brain to think about things?" Everyone. No. It would not be. Please just trust me on this. I'm not just an old person who is out of touch with technology or something. I promise. USE YOUR BRAINS. IT WILL BE OKAY.

#AI

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inkats · 22 hours

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the best place to take nap ? lecture hall.

#sneepiest boy in the world once I’m in here.#even if it’s interesting even if I’ve slept well I cannot keep my eyes open…#I’ve never gotten this close to sleeping in class before….#Also I was thinking again about how I thought I’d make a bunch of nerdy friends and instead #I ended up around the few ppl in really difficult to get into uni who are not nerdy #and then I started thinking about how I ended up in the fandomy spaces in the first place 💭💭#and I really think it was just there was nowhere irl I would get social interaction +fandom ppl are niceys #it’s a good distraction it’s something to do but I never got into things the same way so I still felt a little othered yknow…#So maybe it makes sense 💭💭 im out in the world and I don’t naturally gravitate to fan -y spaces. I’m not a good stan.#I became one out of necessity 💭💭#Do u guys like my mile long diary tags bc I have arthritis maybe and writing on paper a diary sounds bad #Also first time anyone believes my hand pain. I really like this guy he’s so niceys to me ^_^#his emotional drunk impression is just me in my head always I have to be. Normal. About this.#I really am just rambling it’s fun to ramble ^_^ I have lots of thoughts I can only get out in Tumblr tags I guess #a cleansing… my daily Tumblr diary post…#I need to get new shampoo the water here sucks my hair is sticky……#It would be really fucked if anyone found my Tumblr this is like in heat waves where dream had his kind of crazy diary of obsession #if they found this it would be like the sending of the texts..#terrible similie but it’s true.#well they’ll never see this though so it’s cool ^_^#Ok that’s all 4 now c u nxt time

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gojonanami · 9 months

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❝ 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 ❞

❝ PROF. GETO'S CLASS IS SO HARD, BUT HE'S SO HOT!! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part one of the prof geto series)

✧ summary: you were a 4.0, straight A student, until professor geto's class, the same far too hot ethics professor fawned over by faculty and students alike. you didn't understand what was so special about him...until you start having dreams about him.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (mostly fantasy), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student in my mind, but age is vague, masturbation (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), getting off to his voice in recorded lectures, arousal from reading his writing, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, art by @/jatinsohanvi, google scholar graphic by platonic loml @laneysmusings

✧ wc: 10,149 (i have a problem) | part two

“You’re late,”

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto’s class was that you could never be late again, unless you would like to be chided in front of all your peers for your tardiness.

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto himself was that he was truly the most breathtaking man you’d ever laid your eyes on. His inky black locks tied into a neat bun, his deep royal purple vest buttoned over a crisp white button up with pressed gray slacks, his pretty lips pressed in a small frown, as his dark gaze pierced through you. And you don’t know what stirs in your chest — a fleeting moment that is tucked away under a bite of your bottom lip and burning cheeks.

And now you knew why when you had walked into class, the amount of unfamiliar faces in this course had far outnumbered the ones in your usual course load — the same reason why this man undoubtedly had three chili peppers next to his professor rating on some website out there.

And now you were faced with him staring you down as you stumbled down the stairs of the all too full lecture hall.

As you muttered apologies, and took your seat far too close to the front of the class, smack dab in the very front of the very same professor whose eyes still were concentrated on you, before sliding back to the class at large.

“Now, where were we?” he says, continuing the lecture.

Ethics was not your major — you were a philosophy grad student, and although the two went hand in hand — no, they were not the same thing. Ethics are the moral principles — like rules to follow to live a moral life — people can follow, while philosophy is the study of knowledge, reality, and existence. And this class encompassed both — an ethics and moral philosophy class. Your eyes slid around the room — and compared to all the random majors stuffed into this classroom, you had no doubt you’d do well. Your eyes met Professor Geto’s — maybe one slight doubt.

And when you get your first essay back, you eagerly flip to the last page of the paper, wondering what accolades and compliments you’d receive this time. Your eyes find the grade, and your stomach drops, a gaping maw that consumes you from the inside out.

You got a B.

A B+ — an 88 on your paper in this course, and you stared at the grade on the very last page of the paper you had collected from his desk — Professor Geto had insisted everyone submit their papers both physically and electronically — his scrawl in red pen littered each page of what you thought was a thoughtful and even clever paper on the existence free will and the ethical and moral dilemmas that surround it. And he had given it an 88.

You had a 4.0 point average — you had gotten the highest scores in some of the most difficult courses required by your major, and now you were going to be derailed by a class you took on a whim? That’s not happening. No, you were going to get him to change your grade. You were seeing as red as the ink that tore your paper to shreds.

“Come in,” your knuckles had rapped against Professor Geto’s door, your heart in your throat, as you heard his reply, entering his office. His office was as pretentious as he was. A much larger office than you had seen before (poor Professor Ijichi had a shoebox of an office), while Professor Geto’s was three times the size, outfitted with large, beautiful windows, distinct bookshelves, and even a lovely deep mahogany colored couch with decorative cushions. And you knew why that was the case — Professor Geto was an expert in his field, revered, even at his relatively young age. And the university had coveted him, and managed to lure him to work behind these ivy covered walls. While other professors who have been here longer are stuck with offices that don’t begin to compare.

Academia was truly hell.

And yet, Professor Geto seemed to rule over it with an iron fist. Even now, you found your professor looking as annoyingly perfect as ever — his elbow resting against his desk, pen in his other hand, as he flipped through more papers on his desk, his hair in a messy bun, a few black strands falling across his furrowed brow, his pretty lips pursed in concentration, and his dark gaze flicks up from his work to you, and his lips curl, your name leaving his lips, “good to see you, please sit,”

You had planned to attend these office hours in victory, to apologize for your misstep in the first class, and let your professor praise your paper to no end — but instead you were going to see why your paper was graded so harshly.

Your speech was ready, you were going to lay it out, you had the perfect explanation and the excellent reasoning “Professor Geto—”

“I know why you’re here,” he cuts you off, lips forming in an utterly condescending smile, “you want to discuss your paper, correct?”

“I am, I wanted to—”

He sits forward in his chair, setting down his pen, “I’m going to save us some time by explaining my comments on your paper, do you have it?” and you close your mouth, pulling the paper out of your folder and handing it to him, “Your paper was one of the best in the class — it was thought provoking, grounded in research, persuasive, even made me consider some points I hadn’t before—”

You blink, his praise catching you off guard, your thoughts twisting in on themselves, “Then why did you give me B?”

“You didn’t allow me to finish,” he sighs, as he flips through your paper, looking up to meet your gaze, “your paper was excellent when it came to philosophical concepts, but your ethical conclusions on the other hand, could use some work,”

You gaped at him, “What did I possibly—”

“To put it simply, you were trying to use your knowledge of philosophy to cover up your lack of knowledge in the field of ethics,”

“I wasn’t—”

“And that’s okay, because that means I have something to teach you don’t I? That’s why you’re in this course, to learn,” he gives a tight lipped smile, tilting his head. Oh you’d like to learn a lot more from him — like the ethical dilemma of wanting to murder your professor, “and I’m here to teach — and this paper is a teaching moment — and from your expression, I assume you didn’t read the comments I left in detail,”

And your cheeks burn, as your eyes fall away from him, “Not fully in detail,” you still swallow your shame, and meet his gaze, “I don’t mean to be a bother, Professor, but how can my paper still receive a B — I’ve never received that low of a score on any single paper—”

“There’s a first time for everything,” and you have to bite back your retort, “yeah first time having an annoying prick for a professor,” and he rises from his desk to hand you back your paper, “the bottom line is, I know you’re capable of better, this class isn’t going to be easy — I’m not going to hand you accolades for no reason. You have to earn them — if you aren’t up for the challenge, you can drop the class.”

The option was there — you could simply drop the course, rid yourself of Professor Geto and his ridiculous criticism forever. You could take a class with one of the many professors who delighted in your papers (even the ones you’d written at 3 AM and submitted not proofread), and go on with your life and preserve your 4.0 GPA with ease.

But then you looked at him again. He was unfairly hot, even when he was fucking putting you down, he stood in front of you, offering your paper, his fingers long and thick brushing yours by mistake as you took back your paper, a watch on his wrist gleamed in the low light of his office. You glanced around his office, saw the awards on his walls, pictures of him giving lectures or receiving honors, and the books that lined his shelves weren’t dissimilar to your own academic shelf at home. And your eyes fell back to his, as he stared at you curiously, lips pursed, as your paper slightly crumples in your fist.

“Next paper is due in two weeks?” and he pauses, before his lips curl in that same grin.

“Yes it is,” and a smile graces your lips, lightning quick.

Like hell you were going to let him win. You were going to get him to praise your papers (and maybe that wouldn’t be the only thing he praised) — if it was the last thing you do. You’d get an A in his class, hell, you’d get him to beg you to be his teaching assistant (he’d look very nice on his knees for you, wouldn’t he?).

You rise from your seat, and grab your bag, “I’ll see you at your next office hours then, to discuss my paper topic,” and he watches you leave, his eyes piercing into your back as you do.

“See you soon.”

Oh, he would.

“Right on time,” Professor Geto barely looks up now when you knock on his door, his door now always ajar for office hours.

Now you had made a habit of showing up for his office hours, you’d bring your paper topic all picked out, along with your handpicked sources you had chosen for your paper, all typed up in a neat bibliography. And he’d kindly rip it apart with that same damn smile on his lips. It had been a few weeks, a few papers later — and you finally had worked your grade up to an A-, not quite an A+, but you’d get there. You had to.

Because it wasn’t just about your GPA now — you were going to get Professor Geto to praise you — through any means necessary. The man was stubborn, even when you’d come back with an improved draft, he’d only hand it back to you with a smile barely tugging at the corner of his lips, with no compliment to be had — only small check marks scribbled in the margins in your papers, with the occasional “good” written next to it.

“Well, we all know what happens when I’m late,” he laughs, a noise that makes the ice dagger clutched behind your back ever so slightly melt, “I made you laugh, extra credit?”

And he rolls his eyes, and you notice that his dark eyes are hidden behind glasses today — and god, why does it only make him even more gorgeous? He’s already brilliant, it’s unfair for him to look as if he was sculpted by the gods as well, “It takes a lot more than a chuckle to earn extra credit,” and you can’t help but bite your lip.

No, no, he’s the worst. It didn’t matter he was the epitome of every academic’s wet dream, you were above that. You had a goal.

“So, can we discuss my next paper?” you hand him your bibliography, and he takes it, delicate fingers flipping through, your mind notes the absence of a ring on either hand, before brushing the thought aside.

“You’re writing on the morality of good or bad actions,” he hums, as he looks over the sources you had chosen, “Scanlon, good — have you read—”

“‘What We Owe to Each Other?’ Only about a million times — well more like six,” and he nods appreciatively, “of course you’ve read it,”

“I didn’t just read it, I wrote a paper on it, similar to yours, actually,” and your eyes flick up to meet his, he’s leaning forward in his chair, red pen in hand, as he scribbles notes in the margins, as well as on the back of your bibliography, “of course I don’t have your penchant for rambling,”

You pout, “I don’t ramble — I like to make my point—”

“Many times, and the same one,” and your mouth opens, only to find a wry smirk on his lips, “I’m teasing, another one of my very tedious qualities, and how you stand it during class astonishes me,”

You cross your arms, unable to meet his eyes, as you choose to stare at your bibliography instead, “You’re not completely tedious, more like irritating,” and he huffs a chuckle.

You had to admit, begrudgingly, Professor Geto was a…good teacher. And you had your fair share of awful teachers — many of them were brilliant, accomplished people in their fields, but didn’t know how to translate and convey that in their lectures to students who simply knew less than them. But Geto…he knew how to break down complex concepts and theories of moral philosophy and ethics to a science, he knows how to make students understand these complicated topics that you had seen other professors fail to, and he does it while being an intellectual dreamboat to most of his students — the ones that swarm his desk after class, still there even as you slowly make your way out of the lecture hall.

“A rare compliment from you,” he raises an eyebrow, “I’m touched,”

“You’re one to talk,” you furrow your brow, and a smile pulls at his lips.

“Didn’t know you wanted my approval,” he tilts his head, leaning forward to lean on his elbow on the desk, “well, you have improved remarkably in the class so far, and if you keep going like this, I may have no choice but to praise you,”

“You will,”

“Someone is very sure of themselves,” a pause and then he adds with a quirk of his lips, “as you should be,” and he’s sliding your bibliography across the table again, and passes it back, “read the sources I recommended, and see about adding them to your paper — you may have some overlap in the other papers you chose so use your discretion on which ones you use,”

“So don’t repeat myself?” You raise an eyebrow, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs.

“You learn fast.”

And you do — returning to your apartment to work on your paper, as you flip through his notes — as much as you hate to admit it, his notes and criticism did help — annoyingly so. He was far more detailed and perceptive than any other professor you had. Most had let you skate by without a second thought, and you wrote papers like you deleted your internet history after a scandalous romp through elicit websites — tools, clear history — and then onto the next paper or exam. But Professor Geto forced you to face your shortcomings, face the things that you didn’t like to give a second glance to, lest your rejection sensitive self feel the agony of having to deal with criticism.

Each time you did it, you got a little better, and he had a little less to say — time and time again.

You leaned back on your bed, scrolling through the papers he recommended, but so what? So what if he was a good teacher? Doesn’t mean he has to be as infuriating as he is — he knew exactly what to do to get under your skin, and he didn’t prod at it, he scratched it.

And you found yourself typing his name (“suguru geto”) and T.M. Scanlon’s name into the search bar of your university’s library collection, and his paper pops up right on top.

You stare at the paper for a good minute, before you click on it — and you start reading. And reading. And reading — and fuck—

It was good. It was more than that — it gave you so much insight on this topic, it made you rediscover T.M. Scanlon’s work in a new light — and you bite your lip. And it wasn’t just the research — the way it organized, the way it was presented, the way it was written — it was eloquent, but it wasn’t unreadable or incomprehensible. It was…really good.

You imagined him, pouring over Scanlon’s work as he wrote notes in the margins of his copy, pages dogeared and passages highlighted, as he sat in his office typing away at this paper. His sleeves rolled up, his hair let out of his usual bun, his glasses perched on his nose as he read, only his desk lamp and computer illuminating his office. The keys of his computer clacking under his touch, lengthy fingers pitter pattering as he wrote his thoughts and analysis of Scanlon’s work — his brow furrowed in thought.

And you felt yourself flush, swallowing the lump in your throat, as you kicked off your blanket — it was so warm all of a sudden, pressing your thighs together. You shook the thoughts from your mind — what the hell were you doing? You glanced at the time, 2:39 AM it read back at you mockingly. You sigh, shutting your laptop down, and putting it aside — you need to do your skincare and brush your teeth. You glance back at your laptop—the familiar of your flush clung to your skin like a forbidden kiss—

And you clearly needed sleep.

“Can you read this passage to me?” Professor Geto’s voice said, as he stood in front of you in the lecture hall — as you stood behind the podium that faced the entire class — hands in his pockets, in an olive henley, his hair tied in the usual neat bun, his black bangs falling in his eyes as always, glasses on, instead of the usual contacts. The class sat all around you — his exercise in getting the class to participate and get comfortable speaking in front of others, just as philosophers had done in the past (his very own “literary salon” he called it).

You swallow, keeping your eyes fixed on the book in front of you, “‘When I ask myself what reason the fact that an action would be wrong provides me with not to do it, my answer is that such an action would be one that I could not justify to others on ground I could expect them to accept—’”

“What do you think Scanlon meant by this?” he asks you, but his gaze was different this time, it held the amusement it always did when it came to you, but it was warm — no — it was burning. His lips were pursed, as he crossed his arms, the henley’s fabric seemingly straining under the action.

“He meant that an action that is wrong in his eyes when he couldn’t expect others to accept the ground on which he could justify it,” and his lips curve into that damned smile, as he takes a few steps closer, rounding the podium, as he brushes past you, the brief touch of temptation incarnate — the dangling apple of Tantalus personified before you.

“And can you give me some examples of what kinds of actions would be wrong?” and he’s standing behind you now, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him — but you can feel his gaze on you.

“Senseless murder,” and he hums in approval, his breath felt like it was warming your skin, “wanton violence, reckless assault—”

“What other everyday wrongdoings could fall under this category?” and suddenly the class before you is gone, and it’s just the two of you in an empty lecture hall, “theft, lying, student-teacher relationships?”

And your breath catches in your throat, his cologne strangling any sense left in your mind, as his body heat nearly radiates off him, “Professor Geto—”

“Suguru,” he corrects you, and he’s reaching for you, but he pauses, “can I—” and you only can nod, and his fingers brush your hair aside, ever so gently, “would this be considered a moral wrongness, sweetheart?” his lips press a chaste kiss to your shoulder, and you shiver at the softness of his touch.

“Well, I am a student in your class, and even though I’m of age, it presents a power dynamic and a favoritism that might be—” and your sentence cuts off as his arms wind their way around your waist, pressing himself to your back, “I—”

“Go on,” he’s murmuring his words against the nape of your neck now, as he pulls his glasses off to place them on the podium, “might be what?”

“Might be viewed as morally wrong—” and he’s chuckling, the vibration sending a delicious shiver down your spine, as he presses more butterfly kisses to your neck.

“How can something be wrong when it feels so right?” he asks, and his hand is sliding down your side, “feels so good, does it even matter what society views as right or wrong? Do their rules pertain to what we’re doing here?” and his fingers toy with the hem of your pants, teasing and pulling, as he pauses, waiting for your answer, “what do you think—”

“Please,” you swallow, as you turn to look at him, seeing his lips in that same smile that haunted you, “touch me,”

And his smile only grows wider, “Good girl.”

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

Your eyes flutter open, your breath caught in your throat, as you stare at your ceiling, your hand reaching for your phone to silence the alarm. And you squeeze your thighs together, a distinct ache between your legs, your skin all too warm.

What the fuck was that?

You skip office hours the next week. You couldn’t bear it — you could barely tolerate going to class now, as the dream invades your nights, with filthy variations that leave you perturbed and horny (mostly horny). The common theme only being that each time you get close to anything remotely that’s anything (a kiss, a touch that’s more than a caress, anything at all), you wake up.

It’s as if your dreams are edging you — you groan into your pillow — and it was working.

You’re so wound up, you’ve even resorted to using your vibrator before bed, wondering if that would make a difference — it did, but only with you having a dream of Professor Geto using a vibrator on you during class — the vibrations growing even faster when you were speaking as he watched you—

You needed to stop thinking about this. But how can you?

God, it’s even worse when you’re in class. You sit in your usual seat, front and center — and why does it feel like his eyes are on you far too often? Even as he lectures Professor Geto attempts to catch your eye during his lecture, trying to make a point, you all but glue your gaze down to the textbook and your laptop, typing away his words, trying to drown out the whispered words and groans from your dream that ring in your ears. You can’t stop seeing him — unless you want to skip class, which you really couldn’t when attendance and participation counted for a good chunk of your grade.

Class ended and you were packing up your things. You had to weather the storm — avoid being alone with him until the dreams were just a distant memory—

And then you heard him say your name—

Your eyes flick up to meet Professor Geto — who had his usual swarm of students waiting by his desk, but he parted the crowd, he approached your own seat, hands in your pockets, “Do you have a class after this?”

“No, I don’t—” the words slip out before your sleep deprived mind can put the pieces together.

“Then can you please stay after class? I’d like to talk to you,” he says, and before you can say anything, he turns to speak to the students waiting for him.

And now you wait — your anxious energy singing at the frayed ends of your nerves, as you tried to hold yourself together — wondering what he could possibly want to speak to you about. His students dissipated one by one, until it was just you and him left in the lecture hall.

Just. Like. Your. Fucking. Dream.

You round the row you sat in, before walking down to speak to him, “Is there something wrong? The next paper isn’t due until the end of next week—”

“It isn’t about the paper,” and your heart squeezes, as you try to keep your breathing even, as he steps closer — and why, why did he have to opt to only wear a button up today — and a deep royal purple one no less, “I wanted to check in with you,” and he begins to undo the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up — exposing his forearms and the pretty veins that ran along them — the same arms that he had used in one of your dreams to bend you over that desk, the whispers of heated kisses along your neck—

You needed to get out of here.

You blink, “I’m fine,” and he tilts his head.

“I only ask because you’ve looked tired the last two classes, and you didn’t show up for office hours this week,” he crosses his arms, unhelpfully, as he purses his lips, the lines of his brow furrowed.

“I’m fine, Professor, I appreciate your concern — I just haven’t been sleeping well,” you admit — it was the truth, “and that’s why I didn’t come to office hours. I was trying to catch up on sleep,”

He nods, sighing, fingers raking through his hair — those same fingers that would feel so pretty around your neck— “I know I’m hard on you,” oh he would be, “but it’s because I know you’re capable of more — most of these students are taking the class for an elective, but I know it’s more than that for you,” yes, it’s so you can finally earn his praise, “but I’m also here for your benefit, so if you need an extension or anything else, please let me know,”

God, all you wanted was for him to maybe wrap you in his arms and kiss you, or bend you over, pull your clothes off and fuck you, or just to leave you alone all together.

You weren’t sure which one you wanted the most at this moment.

“I will, Professor Geto, I appreciate it,” you murmur, biting your lip, as you try to focus on the task at hand — getting out of here, “I don’t think I need an extension, I’ve made good progress so far. I just need to finish it, so I can revise,”

“Well, let me know if anything changes,” his lips curl, “ok?” And you nod, and if you weren’t so hyperaware, you swore you would have imagined it — but you didn’t, “good girl,”

And you pause a moment — his lips did move, you pinch yourself discreetly — and you know it isn’t a fucking dream. You only smile in return, giving a curt nod and goodbye, before beelining out of the classroom.

But you didn’t stick around long enough to see the slight flush on Professor Geto’s cheeks — nor did you know that you two were thinking the same thing about yourselves—

What the fuck were you doing?

But to your relief, the dreams do subside, and you’re finally able to rest — but the thing that doesn’t subside is your awareness of your professor.

You sit in class, watching him teach — and you knew he was attractive, hell, it was one of the things that made you all the more embarrassed to have him ream you out — having your super hot professor rail at you for your mistakes wasn’t on your list of shining achievements (lest it was him actually railing you—).

You needed to stop doing that.

But it felt as if you weren’t the only one who was hyper aware. You felt as if his eyes skimmed over you during class this week, his replies to your weekly discussion board were less biting than usual, and his office hours were surprisingly canceled this week. First time all semester, but you weren’t so full of yourself that you thought it had anything to do with you — right?

Either way, you had submitted your paper and now you were done with this week—and as class finishes, you slowly pack up, looking forward to the week being over with and for a personal rendezvous with your bed. But as the usual gaggle of students make their way to chat with Professor Geto, your eyes flicker up to meet his, as he stares back a moment.

And you can’t make yourself look away, and for a moment, neither can he.

But then a student calls for his attention, so his eyes flicker away, a smile on his lips as he spoke — and you turn to leave, grabbing your bag, as you look back—

But why did his smile look so strained?

There must be something wrong with him.

Professor Suguru Geto drummed his fingers against his desk, but he felt more like shoving his things off his desk — if only to distract him for a moment. He pulls his glasses off, and runs a hand down his face—god, he hadn’t been sleeping well. No, his nights were plagued, plagued by you — you had slipped into his dreams ever since that day he stopped you.

Why had he stopped you?

It wasn’t the first time he had personally stopped a student who seemed to be struggling, he could count the times he had on both his hands.

But this, this felt different.

You were different.

But why were you different to him? He rubs his temples, from the moment you had stepped into his office he thought he had read you — an overachieving student used to getting their way, As handed out to them, and an inability to take criticism.

He knew, because he used to be one of them. But he knew you needed to be challenged to grow — but it was a matter if you would accept it. And from the moment you asked him when the next paper was due, he couldn’t help but smile.

And his time spent in office hours with you grew more enjoyable each time you came. And when you hadn’t last week, he couldn’t sit still, checking the time, checking his email, and even checking if his office hours had been accidentally listed wrong in his weekly email to the class (they weren’t). And the hour and half passed with many students hungry for his time and his charm — but not the one he was looking for.

Then those words had slipped from his tongue when he had stopped you, left his mouth like he was possessed, and now he had found himself here. Found himself thinking about how your lips parted when he said it, thinking about how you were feeling, thinking about you, you, you—

There’s a knock at the door, “Professor Geto?”

And it was you.

“I apologize, I know you canceled office hours, but I just had a few questions I didn’t get to ask you in class,” your fingers toy with the ring you wore, a folder in hand, a soft smile on your lips.

“Of course, come in,” and you did, your dress was painfully short, the fabric riding up as you sat, the folder in your lap, “is this about your paper?”

“It is, I was reading a few papers, and after our conversation, I couldn’t help but find your paper,” and he tilts his head, “and I want to include it as a source in my paper, but I had a few points you made that I wanted clarified,”

He raises an eyebrow, and he can’t help but tease, “Clarified or criticized? Are you planning on turning the tables on me?”

“Well I do have a red pen,” you click your pen, lips curved in a smile, and there’s a hint of heat that he wishes to unearth, pluck from the earth and possess himself, “but I promise I’ll be civil,”

“I have no doubt,” he had a million when it came to you — but that wasn’t one of them. He runs his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “of course, let’s discuss it,”

“You discuss Scanlon’s idea of a social contract, everyone within this moral society agrees on what’s right and what’s wrong — the basic principle is that if there is a rule no one can reasonably reject as a basis, but is there such a rule that can exist?”

He tilts his head, “Scanlon’s theory relies on this premise — are you questioning me or the premise?”

“Both, actually,” you shrug, crossing your legs, “is there a magic switch that changes every person to be rational? Because I think only rational people can agree on what rules cannot be reasonably rejected — what about people who are cruel, inconsiderate, self-absorbed? Do those traits go away when operating under Scanlon’s social contract? You propose in your paper that moral reasons are not subjective — nothing is uncolored by human opinion,”

“No, but—”

“How can we agree on what is truly right or wrong? How can one hundred people agree on that when everyone views these actions in different ways? Right and wrong? Black, white, or gray?” you rise from your chair to hand him his paper printed out, the paper more red than white with the amount of writing you’ve done, “like for example,” you lean forward, your hand braced against the edge of his desk, “can one hundred people agree that student-teacher relationships are wrong? Because one veto,” your hand trails ever closer to his, toeing that dangerous line either of you had even yet to approach to cross. But here you were, seemingly barreling toward it.

And he didn’t want to pull away.

He swallows, whispering your name, “This can’t—” and you were so close — too close, your perfume hypnotized him, your fingers brush against his and he can’t help but hold them, his thumb rubbing across your knuckles, “they can agree that it’s wrong — the power imbalance from the authority of the professor and the age difference—”

“I disagree, so the rule isn’t legitimate, right? Even if one disagrees, the rule cannot be make valid,” and his breath catches as your fingers slide up his arm now, resting on his shoulder, as you lean over his chair now, as your other hand toys with the loose strands of his hair, “if the two of us can’t even agree, then how could a hundred, or a thousand, or a million?”

“But—”

“But what?” you pout, your fingers dragging down his chest, toying with the top button of his button down, “I don’t see you pulling away, do you want me to stop, Professor? Because I will,”

And he swallows thickly, but he can’t stop you — he doesn’t want to, “But, we shouldn’t — it isn’t a reasonable objection—” he tries his hardest to stand firm, but he only crumbles when your fingers brush his cheek, tracing the cut of his jaw. And it feels like flames tickling at his skin, begging him to thrust his hand into the fire.

“Like I said, people are not reasonable,” your lips draw closer, and he can feel your breath warm his own, and god, why are you so tempting? And your lips stop short, barely an inch between your faces, “and besides, would you rather be reasonable or satisfied?”

And there’s only one answer — you.

He leans forward, lips nearly brushing yours—

RING. RING. RING.

He jerks awake from his desk, papers sliding as he does, his breath caught in his throat, and his eyes wander — and finds no one else there.

A dream. He runs his fingers through his hair again, crumpling the paper he had oh so lovingly drooled during his nap. He needed to get his shit together.

But his current predicament wasn’t making that easy — his cock strained against the fabric of his pants — was he a grown adult or a horny teenager?

Fuck. It wasn’t going away — no matter what he thought, his mind kept circling back to you.

And his eyes slide to the time: 1:40 AM.

Far past the time any soul would be here, even cleaning staff would have been long gone. It was just him—

And you.

“So good for me, baby,” he’s panting, palming his erection, an embarrassing amount of precum drips from his cock for a barely wet dream. He ignores the gnawing guilt in the back of his mind — but he can’t help but imagine the image of you, spread out on his desk, hiking that oh so teasing sundress up, only to find your underwear drenched — just for him.

His fingers would slide up your plush thighs, squeezing to draw a gasp from your pretty lips, “Professor—“ you’d say, unable to form a sentence, all those brilliant falling away under his touch, until it was just him occupying every crevice of your mind.

“Where’s that mouth now? So needy f’me,” he’d murmur, “but such a good girl,” and you were, his thumb tracing his slit, smearing his pre-cum, as he imagined you spread on his desk, your puffy folds nearly showing through your far too translucent panties, “my best student’s so pliant for me now,”

And his hand moves faster, and he can imagine your fingers reaching for him too, your smaller fingers wouldn’t be able to even touch as much as he can — but god it would feel so much better.

But he’d want you to feel even better than he did.

He’d tug your underwear down, stuffing it in his pocket (his fee for all of additional office hours), and he would prep you right — fuck you open with his fingers, two or three, before he tasted you. Your fingers would dig into his scalp as you moaned his name again and again, before you came all over his face.

He’d lick his lips clean of your release, before dragging his cock down your sweet cunt, watching his precum mix with your cum, as your walls flutter around nothing, craving to have him sink into you.

“Professor, please,” you’d beg with pretty, kiss bitten lips between pants, “please,”

“Where’s all those quips now, sweetheart?” he’d tease, as he would let his tip tease your clit, pulling a moan from your lips, “all those words fall away when you want this cock, don’t they? Been thinking about you like this, wondering what you’d look like spread out under me,” and he would lean down to kiss you, “it’s even better than I expected,”

He’s jerking himself off in earnest now, the lewd noises of his hand around his cock filling most of the silence, his low groans filling the rest. And he’d finally sink into you, inch by inch, until he’d kiss your cervix with his weeping tip.

And, god, he wishes his fingers fisted around his cock would be as good as your cunt would feel around him. He would fuck you slow at first, “I know those boys can’t fuck you as good as I can, as well as I can,” he’d tell you, as he would pick up the pace when you’d tell him to, making you cum again and again with his cock, thumb rubbing at your clit, until he was finally close. He’d either cum all over your stomach, marking you with his release, or if you’d let him, he’d cum inside you, filling you with his seed—and then he’d watch it drip out when he would pull out. He groans your name lowly, shuddering as he comes all over his hand, hard.

Fuck.

That’s the hardest he’d cum in a long time. He’s a mess — panting and flushed, as he leans back, head against the back of his chair, too spent to even clean up. And then he finally does, cleaning himself up well, and collecting his things to leave the office.

But he only treated the symptoms, not the problem itself. His hard-on is gone, but his mind is still filled with thoughts of you. How he’d kiss you sweetly after, how he’d clean you up, care for you gently, make you rest because you never seem to do enough of that, and he’d let you relax — finally relax, as you slept the night in his arms.

As he heads to his car, he knows that he’s utterly fucked (without even being fucked) because he has feelings for you. And he didn’t know if they were going to go away as easily as he hoped.

But he hoped they would. He owed it to you, your education, and your future career not to act on these feelings.

And he sighs as he sits in his car, starting it, but why did it hurt not to?

It was that time again.

Your next paper had come around again, and you needed to prepare a topic before you went to speak to Professor Geto. You had put it off, something you had never done with his class, but you wanted to limit the amount of time you spent with him, if only for the sake of your heart.

Watching him in lectures was bad enough, your thighs pressing together as you watched him speak, his impeccable looks and intelligence a deadly combination for your heart (and your body). You could barely focus, your eyes too fixed on the way he wrote on the board — his fingers too lithe and too thick, his voice all too alluring when discussing Kant and Aristotle and you can’t help but think what he’d sound moaning your name.

God. Fuck.

Either way, you needed to listen to the lectures again since you weren’t able to pay attention. Maybe without watching the video would be better, you settle on your bed, notebook and pen in hand, as you place your headphones on. His voice filled your ears, and you’re scrawling notes.

But your mind begins to wander. He’s lecturing on the deontological ethics, and all you can think about is how he could make you cum with just that voice of his.

Shit, you shifted your thighs again, feeling that familiar ache again. What would he sound like when he moaned? How would it sound to have him touch you, run those long fingers down your thighs, and whisper filthy things in your ear?

As you listened to the lecture, his voice became white noise as your fingers slipped past the waistband of your shorts, and you shut your eyes.

“That’s it, sweetheart, spread your legs for me,” he’d murmur in your ear, his chest pressed to your back and he’s urge your thighs wider, and his fingers would press against the wet patch on your panties, and he’d hum, “so wet f’me and I haven’t touched you yet, Princess,” his lips would kiss your pulse, “you like my voice that much?”

“Professor,” you gasp, as his fingers would tease you through your underwear, the fabric growing more soaked by the second, “please—“ and his thumb would ghost around your clit, teasing you, as his long fingers would piston in and out — they would reach so much fucking deeper “I need to—“

“Already begging? I knew you learned fast, but not this fast,” and his fingers would tug the crotch of your panties aside, his fingertips tracing around your outer lips, before a finger pushes past your sweet cunt, “fuck, my favorite student’s pussy is so fucking tight. These boys are not fucking you right,” and you whimper, his finger would be so much thicker than yours, as you glide another finger inside you, the two dragging against your walls, “listen to your pretty cunt,” he’d grin against your skin, “and the wet squelch of your pussy, “so pliant for me, takes my fingers so well,” he’d murmur with a chuckle, “practically swallowing me up,”

And you’re bucking your hips against him, wanting, needing him deeper, because your fingers don’t reach as far as his does, moans leaving your lips.

“I’m so—” you’re moving faster and faster, his lecture still filling your ears, your pre-cum soaking your shorts and onto the bed sheets, “I can’t—”

“Come on, Princess, use those big words of yours, you have no problem usually,” his hot words would whisper in your ear, and you’d hear him rub his erection against your ass, trying to get himself off, and you’d grind against him, wanting any friction, “tell me,”

“Let me cum, please,” and he would smile, running his fingers through your hair, before he bore his thumb down on your clit and sunk a third finger into your needy cunt, just as you did now. And it’s too much for you, your toes curl, your messy walls fluttering around your fingers, as you cum all over your shorts and sheets with a groan of his name. Your fingers were soaked, as you pant, trying to gather yourself, as you came down from your high.

“Fuck,” you murmur, tugging off your headphones, so your cunt doesn’t have to twitch listening to his dulcet words again. And you’re pulling your fingers out, your cum dripped down your fingers, as you shifted, far too wet underneath you, as you tried to slip off your bed to take a shower and clean yourself up.

And then you realized, you didn’t even hear any of the lecture.

Double fuck.

Why was this so difficult?

You stood near his office, trying to work up the urge to approach his door for office hours? Since it’s almost the end of the semester, there had been an influx of students attending office hours, and with everything, you had found excuses in your head to avoid office hours. But you couldn’t avoid him anymore.

For your final paper in the class, you had to have a meeting with him during office hours to discuss your topic, complete with bibliography and outline. And it was almost time for your meeting.

But you didn’t know how to go in.

The last few weeks in class have made things worse. You couldn’t help but watch the other students fawn over Professor Geto, his lips curled as he spoke to them. And you’d leave class without a word. You had to stick through the semester and your feelings would disappear with time. You wouldn’t have to see him, you wouldn’t have class anymore, and you couldn’t talk to him.

Or wouldn’t.

But now you had to. And you didn’t know how— otherwise than just to do it.

You knock at his door, “Come in,” and you open the door to see an empty desk, blinking, “I’m over here,”

And your head snaps to your right, and Professor Geto is sitting on his couch, his legs crossed with a stack of papers in hand. His jacket is slung over the side of the couch, his deep maroon button up sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

“I thought you lived at your desk,” you raise an eyebrow, “decided to change it up for the end of the semester?”

“Everyone needs a change of scenery,” he leans forward, placing the stack of papers on the table in front of him, “do you want to sit here or move to the desk?”

You shift in place, before moving to the couch beside him, “This is fine,” he stares, “what?”

“Just surprised, you always have something to say,” he leans on his elbow, “no smart remarks today?”

“Fresh out, can I offer you my proposal for the final paper instead?” You say dryly, and he cracks a smile, holding out your proposal. He clicks his red pen, readying his sword.

He takes it, his dark eyes darting back and forth as he reads, his brow furrowed in concentration — and you can’t help but want to reach out and smooth his brow for him, tease him that he’ll get wrinkles. But you can’t. Can’t because that would cross a line that neither of you should cross.

“You’ve come a long way,” he says, as he flips it back the front, writing only a few notes here and there.

“But?” You wait for it.

His gaze flickers up, a tilt of his head, “That was the end of my sentence,”

You pause a moment, “Really?”

“Really,” he scribbles a few more notes, “I look forward to reading the paper, it will be excellent I’m sure, maybe you’ll even get higher than a B+,”

“Oh, ha, ha,” sarcasm dripping from your tongue, but you can’t help but smile, “you’ll miss me and my endless need for academic validation,” but was it really academic validation you were after now — your eyes gazed at him sitting with the tip of his pen pressed to his lips — or was it his?

And it’s his turn to pause, and his lips curl into a soft smile, “I will,”

Your breath catches, “Really?”

He chuckles, “Really,” he licks his lips, his eyes glancing downward at your proposal than at your face, “I’ve enjoyed our chats this semester,”

“Have you? Even when I argued with you,” a half nervous half serious laugh dies on your lips when his gaze meets yours, far too serious for your heart to take.

“Especially then,” his fingers run through his hair a moment, before he speaks again, “I can’t say you could say the same,”

“And why couldn’t you?” his eyes flicker with an emotion you can’t grasp fast enough, before it slips away into the depths of his dark irises.

“Because you stopped coming,” his voice is soft, his tone barely even, and this gives you a real pause, heat flushing your body, as if his words had set every nerve ending alight, your mouth growing dry along with it, and it gives him a reprieve he needs to brush it aside, “you don’t have to, of course, these office hours are not relevant to your—”

“I didn’t stop coming because I didn’t enjoy it,” you cut him off, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I stopped coming because I did,”

He stares, “What do you—”

“I don’t want academic validation anymore, I don’t care about my GPA,” you consider it a moment, “ok I do,” and he snorts, “but I care more about validation from you,”

“From me?” he says, and his gaze tries to meet yours and it can’t — but his fingers brush against your skin, making your breath catch, your eyes finding his, “and what kind of validation do you want?”

And you can’t find the words, and you hesitation makes him shake his head, “I apologize, I shouldn’t have—”

“Will you have a drink with me?” and he’s speechless for once, “after the semester is over, of course — I know it wouldn’t be ethical before,”

And his eyes find yours again, “Some would say it would be unethical after too,”

“I would say it depends,”

“On what basis?” and you can’t help but smirk.

“Am I being graded, Professor?” and you delight in a small crack in his smiling veneer as a light flush dusts the tops of his ears, “and if I’m good, will you call me a good girl again?”

He swallows, “I don’t want to cost you your education or your—”

“I understand the risks, but we aren’t contemplating shifting a trolley to hit one person or five, or murdering one healthy person to save five sick ones,” and he raises an eyebrow, “it’s a drink to celebrate the end of the semester,”

“And if it's something more?” he nearly whispers, the softness of his voice reflected in his features, as his fingers that rested on the couch twitched beside yours.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge then,” and then you add with a small smile, “Or hit the metaphorical person with the trolley,” and it pulls at the corners of his lips.

“You make a fair point,” and you gasp in mock surprise.

“The first time all semester you agree with me,” and he chuckles, a noise you wished you could hear him make innumerable times more.

“Not the first,” he replies, before leaning forward, pressing your outline back into your hands, his fingers brushing yours, “we both agree you’re a good girl, don’t we?”

And your breath catches, his words warm your skin, turning your blood to lava, “Professor,” and he smiles again.

“When we go for drinks, call me Suguru.”

~~~~

The semester wears on and finally draws to an end, but finals induced hibernation begins for you. A mix of papers and exams, you finish everything — including your paper for Professor Geto’s class. As always, he has you submit a paper and electronic copy, the paper copy to be dropped off at his office mailbox. And you do just that, the mailboxes being only around the corner from his office, and your heart squeezes at the thought of him. After this, the class was over, it was done. You weren’t his student anymore.

And you place the paper into the mailbox and sigh, chewing your lip as you pass by his office, but find the door closed (and locked, as you quickly turned the doorknob to test it). Where was he? This was the time he was usually in his office, but maybe he had left campus for the semester — had he forgotten about your drinks?

Fuck. You hadn’t even discussed a time or place, you had left it vague — “after finals.” Your cheeks burned at the memory, you were far too flustered to elaborate. And you had spent far too many nights imagining him calling you a ‘good girl’ in many other situations.

And then you heard a call of your name, your gaze snapping up, your heart leaping, but only to see the department head.

“Hi Professor, how are you?” and the two of you make polite chit-chat, until he asks you.

“Have you applied to be a T.A. for the department?” and you blink, “applications just opened and I think from what I’ve heard about you around the department, I think you would be an excellent candidate.”

“I’d love to be — how does the application process work?” and he explains that it’s a double blind process where applications are viewed without personal information of the candidates, and then matched with a professor based only on resume and writing samples.

You can barely listen to the department head, still far too distracted with thoughts of Professor Geto — so you agree to apply, if only to placate the department head, and make an excuse to leave.

It had been a week or so, as you lay in bed in your apartment, staring at your ceiling — you hadn’t even bothered to get Professor Geto’s personal number. You couldn’t even reach out to him if you tried, as the only way you could was through his university email, which was out of the question — the university had rules against a professor and student dating, and if anyone found that email — you sighed — it wouldn’t be good.

Maybe it was for the best.

The only communication you had gotten from him was an email from Professor Geto’s mailing list to the class from a few days ago, stating that he was out of state in a conference, and he would return soon, but your grades would be emailed to you. But the paper copies would be available to pick up in his office from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM on Tuesday. It was almost time to pick up your paper, and your nerves bit at you as you thought about the possibility of seeing him. Who knows if he would even be there to begin with.

Would it be anything? Would it be nothing? Was there not any point to this at all?

Oh, great, you were becoming existential.

You sat up, the only thing you could do was go. So you do, taking your time to get dressed. If you were going to see him, you might as well look your best.

Fuck. You couldn’t go in. It had taken you longer to get back to campus than you thought, and now there were only a few minutes of his office hours left.

And you’re about to knock when the door opens, and you find yourself face to face with the man who has consumed every thought of yours for the last few months — good and bad alike.

“Late again?” and you can’t help but smile.

“I prefer fashionably late,” and his eyes rake over your outfit, making your cheeks burn.

“You certainly are,” and he steps aside to allow you into his office, and you glance between the couch and the desk, but he makes the choice and sits at his desk, “I have your paper right here,” and he’s rifling through his file of papers, “how did your finals go?”

“If I have an A on this paper, perfectly,” and a smile tugs at his lips, and you raise an eyebrow, “what? Something funny?”

“Not at all,” and he pulls your paper out, ha “I just recall you saying you wanted something more than, what was it? ‘My academic validation?’”

And your cheeks flush, “I did, but I also didn’t hear from you,” and your fingers reach for the paper, and he holds onto it, “Professor,”

“I couldn’t reach out to you because I was still your professor, but once you get this grade, I’m not anymore,” and his gaze is sharper without his glasses today, his dark blue Henley doing nothing to help the flush on your cheeks — memories of your dreams flooding your mind, “and once you get this grade back, I’m not anymore,”

“And what does that mean?” you can’t pull your eyes away from his, but his fingers let go of your graded paper, “how about you look at the last page of your paper and see?”

You pull the paper into your hands, flipping to the last page:

99 — I was impressed by this paper not only by the content but by its comprehension and use of both ethics and philosophy. But I was also impressed by the person who wrote the paper. You’ve shown determination and growth throughout the semester — and you have reminded me what we owe to each other. And I think we owe each other a drink, and a chance for this.

You feel his eyes watch you as you read, your eyes finally meeting his — his brow knit together, his lips pursed, concentrated gaze trying to decipher your reaction.

“Why a 99?” And his eyebrows raise, as if to ask, “that’s your question?”

“You had some spelling and grammar errors,”

“Really? You couldn’t let it slide?” And he tilts his head, before he sees your lips curling into a grin.

“So you think it’s funny to mess with your professor?” And his voice drops, a playful tone that makes you nearly shiver, as he leans forward, resting his chin against his elbow.

“You’re not my professor anymore, are you, Suguru?” he likes that by the way his teeth bite his bottom lip briefly, his eyes flitting to your lips for a moment and back to your eyes, “so I guess we’re using that trolley after all,”

“If you want to,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t blame you if you change your mind, it’s a risk,”

It was. It was a risk to your reputations, your careers, your futures — especially to yours. But, your eyes met his again.

“Contractualism is about avoiding risk,” and he nods, as his gaze falls away, “but some risk is necessary in life, and I think this is one that’s worth taking,”

“We will have to be careful,” he murmurs, but already his fingers are twitching, far too eager to touch you, “we can’t make any mistakes. I don’t want to hurt you,” he adds softly.

“I know, I don’t want to hurt you either,” and you rise before slowly rounding his desk, “but I want to know what it’s like,”

And he can’t stop himself — he gets to his feet, his fingers finding your cheeks and he kisses you. You can taste the black coffee on his lips, his kiss is gentle at first, so chaste and fleeting that you’d swear he didn’t kiss you at all — and so it’s not a second before your lips find his again, in a deeper kiss that steals every ounce of breath from your lungs, and leaves only heat behind. This was dangerous. The very risk you were both trying to avoid, but as he’s pressing you into the edge of his desk, you can’t find the logic you misplaced when those goddamn fingers you’ve been dreaming about squeeze your hips.

“Fuck,” he’s panting — god that word sounded more sinful on his lips than it should — as he presses sweet kisses to your neck, “we shouldn’t be doing this here,”

“Not very ethical,” you chuckle breathlessly, as your fingers rake through his now disheveled bun, “but I can’t find the sense to care,” your noses brush, as you can’t help but smile, “what would Scanlon or Kant say about this?”

And his arms lift you onto his desk, several papers crumpling underneath, “Who the fuck cares?” he’s hissing, his lips find yours in a searing kiss, as his thighs press yours apart, as he settles himself between your legs, his knee grazing your core, drawing a delightful gasp from your lips, “I know what I want,” and his eyes soften, his fingers tracing the length of your cheek, “do you?”

Before you can answer, two pings catch your attention — your phone and his computer lighting up with a notification, and you both pause a moment, as your eyes glance at the banner notification on your phone, skimming over the words. The T.A. positions have been assigned.

“Fuck,” you hear him mutter, and you gaze snaps up to his on his computer, the email now opened on his screen, “this can’t be right—”

“What is it—” and the question dies on your lips as your eyes find where his rested —

You — you were his T.A. for next semester — for the very class that you met in.

Fuck, indeed.

✧ read part 2 now

✧ a/n: lets all remember that student and teacher relationships are bad in real life. it's ok to live vicariously through reader but unfortunately no professor will be as hot as professor geto or gojo T_T. s/o to @/laneymusings and @bucky-of-the-opera for beta reading this for me and being just absolutely wonderful!!

✧ tag list: @sokkasmoon, @unoriginalideas, @waytootiredforthisss, @sinnerstardoll, @secret-pages-of-my-heart, @drthymby, @hanlay, @catsgomurp, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @esuz, @difficultdomains, @poopyface222, @iwassentfromhell, @diogodxlot, @totallynotcc, @llovekami, @deadmarygolds, @teatreeoilll, @carcarcraziiv2, @forest-hashira, @aliyalala, @esuz, @that-goth-bisexual, @hehehehesthings, @imjustmememe, @j1jay, @iwassentfromhell,

#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru imagines #geto x reader #geto smut #geto x you #geto suguru fanfiction #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #dividers by @/saradika

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imaginedisish · 25 days

Text

Dare (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys. Just wanted to say thank you for all the support I got this morning. All of your comments really warmed my heart. Thank you so, so, so much. I ended up getting this done pretty fast. Went with "Dare" by Gorillaz for the title. Made me feel better to write. I like this one. Hope you do, too. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan finds out you've never been eaten out while playing a game of "Truth or Dare," and he's more than willing to change that.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, softdom!Logan, pussydrunk!Logan (he does not let up, he is starving for you), older!Logan, implied aged gap (reader is in her 20s/old enough to teach at the institute), cocky!Logan, he is an absolute service dom in this, friends to lovers, mentions of mental health/self worth, fluff, some hurt to comfort, some angst, afab/fem!reader, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,235 wowza didn't expect that and oh my god this gif

You’re lying on your floor—the door to your room wide open. Everyone is out anyway. It’s Friday night at the mansion—no one will see you like this. Students’ papers are scattered around you. You stare up at the ceiling, feeling choked up. It had been a bad day—a bad week. Maybe even a bad year. You feel like you’re slipping, losing yourself.

Teaching the older students had become beyond challenging—possibly because you aren’t much older than them in the first place. Most days, it felt like everyone expected greatness from you, given the strength of your powers, which naturally comes with responsibility, and that can be incredibly overwhelming. It had all been—if you were being brutally honest—an absolutely terrible time.

So, you’re lying on your floor, feeling numb. You stopped grading papers at least an hour ago, and simply decided to stare at the ceiling, your head spinning. You wanted to calm the noise, to take a breather. Luckily, you’re alone—everyone is on a mission or out given that it’s Friday night.

Or so you thought.

“What on Earth are you doing?” A familiar voice cuts through the silence like a knife, jarring you, and forcing you to look up. And there he is, in a white t-shirt and denim jeans, arms crossed tightly against his chest, leaning in the doorway. Logan. You want to roll your eyes at how good he looks. You want to slap yourself for thinking it in the first place.

He smirks at you, his brows furrowed playfully. You let your head fall back to the floor. “Grading papers,” you mutter. You can hear his footsteps as he walks into the room, drawing closer to you.

“Doesn’t look like you’re grading papers to me,” he teases. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Why aren’t you out with Jean or Rogue?”

He stands next to you, and you look up at him. “Didn’t feel like it,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit up. You draw your knees into your chest. You decide to turn the question around on him. “Why aren’t you out?”

He sits down next to you, stretching his long legs in front of him, his shoulder bumping against yours as he settles in. He shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you, right?” He jokes, nudging his elbow into your arm. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. It’s impossible to fight it when he’s next to you. Your eyes meet his, and his smile quickly turns into something else—concern. “You’ve been off lately.”

You swallow harshly. “Did Jean or Rogue say something?” You ask. They’d notice, maybe they told Logan. “Did they ask you to stay with me or something?”

But Logan shakes his head. “No. I could just tell,” he says, worry clear in his voice. “Thought I’d hang back with you. All my idea.” He tilts his head, his jaw working, his brows furrowing again. “Is something going on?”

You take a deep breath, turning away from him. You’re suddenly overwhelmed by his presence, by his kindness and his care. He stayed home for you. “I’m okay,” you mutter, avoiding the truth.

“Hey,” Logan whispers, tentatively reaching his hand to your knee, waiting for you to shove him away. His palm is warm against your skin, calming and stabilizing. You turn back to look at him, his brows raised incredulously. “I know that’s not true,” he says. He has always been able to read you like a book. “What’s going on?”

You swallow harshly. “I’ve just been having a tough time lately,” you say, distracted by the way his thumb brushes across your knee. “I…” You trail off, letting your eyes fall closed. “Things are hard.”

“You can talk about it if you want,” he says, his voice deep and steady. “I’m here.”

You sniffle, struggling to keep yourself in check. “I just…” you pause, looking off to the side. “Everything sucks.” You take another deep breath. “And the students are so hard.” You point to the piles of papers scattered around your floor. “And then there’s me, and all my shit. My powers. The responsibilities we have. I’m young, and I’m still learning. And fuck, Logan, this all just feels so impossible sometimes. It…it…” You trail off, finally running out of words, out of steam.

“It hurts.” He finishes your sentence, taking the words right out of your mouth. You turn back towards him, your eyes instantly meeting his. “It hurts a lot.”

You nod. “Yeah, exactly.” He squeezes your knee comfortingly. “You get it,” you murmur.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he soothes, his hand lifting off your knee, his arm wrapping around your shoulder instead. “I’ve got you.” You let yourself lean into his touch, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “Let’s take your mind off things, yeah?”

You nod against him, not wanting to move away, not wanting to separate from him. He feels so nice, so solid. “What did you have in mind?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t involve getting up.

“Wanna play a game?” He offers, turning his head to look down at you. You smile widely, almost mockingly. “What?” He chides. “You think I don’t know how to have fun?”

You laugh softly. “I just don’t see you as a game guy, Lo,” you confess. He chuckles, and you can feel his laughter reverberating through his chest. “Can you even think of one to play?”

Logan’s still laughing, shaking his head. “What about truth or dare?” He ever so slightly pulls you in closer, his lips pressed against the side of your head.

You giggle, feeling light for the first time in a long time. “Are we in seventh grade?” You ask teasingly. You felt like a teenager, honestly—being next to Logan always made you feel like a love-sick schoolgirl. But you know you and him could never be. You were younger than Logan—everyone was—but you, being in your 20s, assume that Logan doesn’t see you the way you see him.

He just shakes his head and laughs, pulling you back to reality. “Truth or dare?” He asks, ignoring your middle school comment and officially starting the game.

You don’t want to get up, don’t want to move an inch, so you answer: “Truth,” hoping it isn’t anything too crazy.

Logan thinks for a second, his head resting on yours. “Why’d you pick truth instead of dare?” He finally asks.

You roll your eyes. “Boring!” You tease. “I only picked it because I don’t feel like moving.” And then you realize…perhaps your answer is more revealing than you previously considered. Your heart thunders in your chest.

Logan hums. “And why don’t you want to move, exactly?” He’s onto you.

“You asked your question, you got an answer,” you protest, trying to shut him down. “No follow-up questions.” It’s your turn now. “Truth or dare?” You ask.

“Truth,” he says. “Because maybe I don’t feel like moving either.”

You smile, and you can feel him looking down at you. You’re too nervous to meet his gaze. You think for a moment, racking your brain for a question. “Did you really stay home for me, and was it all your own idea?” You finally ask. You regret the question almost immediately, fearful of the honest answer.

“Yes,” he responds without a beat. “Jean said you were staying in, and said she didn’t know why, so I stayed too.” He pauses, and you can hear his steady breathing amidst the silence. “I was worried, princess.” The pet name burns a hole through your heart. “Needed to know that you were okay.”

You can feel tears building behind your sinuses. “Thank you, Lo,” you whisper. “That means a lot.”

He presses the ghost of a kiss to the crown of your head—almost not quite there. But you can feel it, hesitant and tentative. “It’s nothing, no need to thank me.” You finally find the courage to look up at him and find him smiling down at you. His lips part. “Truth or dare?” He asks again.

You can feel some sort of tension brewing, building, thick and heavy. You try to ignore it, try to brush it off. Your heart hammers in your chest. “Truth,” you pick again. “But get a little more creative this time.”

He pauses, the gears in his head turning. And then finally: “Why’s your heart beating so fast? It’s loud, too.”

Your eyes widen, suddenly remembering Logan’s heightened senses. He can hear everything. “Uh…” You trail off, not sure how to get out of this. “I-It’s not…”

He laughs. “You’re a terrible liar. You know that?” His voice is deep and honeyed, smooth. “You gotta answer the question, or I get to ask another.”

“Those are not the rules!” You protest, lifting your head to look at him. He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face, the one that makes your stomach drop.

He tugs you into his chest again, his lips at the shell of your ear. “Then answer the question,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. He’s so close. Too close. Your heart is only beating faster, louder now.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. But of course, you know. It’s all because of him. “Just anxious, I guess.” It’s a half-truth—you’re certainly nervous, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him why.

“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” Logan coos, his thumb brushing circles into your shoulder. “It’s just me.”

Yes, exactly, you want to say. It’s you. But you don’t. You try to steady your breathing, try to calm down. “My turn,” you force yourself to say. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he says darkly. “And make it good.” You can hear the cockiness in his voice—a sudden shift in his tone.

“We should just call this truth or truth,” you say, mulling over a question in your mind. It’s hard to think with him this close—hard to breathe. You want to rile him up, to find out what makes him tick—to make him itch the way he makes you. And then it hits you: the perfect question. “When was the last time you…” You stop yourself, suddenly too nervous to ask.

“When was the last time I what, darlin’?” He asks, cocking his head to the side, raising his eyebrows.

You huff. You’ve fallen into your own trap. There’s no backing out now. “When was the last time…” You pause again, biting your lip. You close your eyes. “…somebody got you off?”

“Been a while,” he says simply. Your eyes flutter open, and Logan is completely relaxed, his eyes trained on you. He isn’t annoyed. He’s unbothered, unprovoked, as if you had asked him what the weather was going to be like tomorrow. “But it depends on how you mean. So, what do you mean?” He finishes.

You’re slightly frustrated by how easy it was for him to answer. “I don’t know,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders. “Whatever the last time was.”

“Few years back, not particularly proud of it,” he huffs. “Girl took care of me in a bar. That was it.”

You nod. “Must’ve been nice,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a bit disheartened. You catch his drift; you know it didn’t mean anything. You likely didn’t know Logan at that time, having only arrived at the Institute two years ago. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous, shouldn’t care that he was ever with someone else, even for a fleeting moment. You’ve had boyfriends. You’ve been with other people.

“It was fine. Just a blowjob.” He says it nonchalantly. “Didn’t mean a thing.” You look straight ahead, waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t. “Truth or dare?” He finally asks.

“Truth.” Your fake, plastered-on smile becomes real when his eyes meet yours. It’s just what happens when you look at him. “And make it interesting.”

The corner of his mouth turns up slyly, and you know he has something up his sleeve. “When was the last time somebody did that to you?” He asks.

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?” But you already know exactly what he’s asking. And you desperately do not want to give him the answer.

“Got you off, like that,” he husks. “With their mouth.”

Fuck. “Uh…” You trail off. You can feel heat spreading across your chest and up your neck, your skin prickling. “Never,” you say honestly.

“What?” Logan’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Never?”

You’re suddenly embarrassed. Your skin feels tight—so do your shorts and tank top. “Never,” you repeat, looking down at your knees, still pulled in tightly to your chest. Your heart beats rapidly. “Just hasn’t happened yet,” you choke out. “I’ve been with people, but…”

“Hey,” he whispers, suddenly grabbing your chin and angling you up to face him. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, princess.”

You smile shyly, reveling in his touch. “You didn’t,” you insist honestly. “Just a little embarrassed.”

Logan shakes his head, his eyes softening. “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he assures. “You deserve to be taken care of.” His hand slides across your jaw and cups the back of your neck. “Deserve to feel good.”

Your eyes flutter closed at his touch. “Lo,” you whisper, struggling to keep your composure. Heat pools between your thighs. “Tr-truth or dare.”

His forehead presses to yours. “I think we’re done with the game, pretty girl,” he rasps, the arm around your shoulder slipping down to your waist. “Unless I get to give you a dare this time.”

“What’s the dare?” You ask, your eyes fluttering back open. His lips are so close. Your noses touch softly.

He works his jaw, licking his lips. “Let me eat you out, pretty girl,” he pants, his chest heaving against yours. “Let me take care of you like you should’ve been already.” He hates the idea that you’ve never been touched properly, the idea that those younger guys didn’t know how to treat you right. But he can fix that. He can make you feel good.

“Fuck,” you curse, his breath fanning across your lips. “A-are you sure?” You ask. “I don’t want you to do it just because you feel bad for me or—” “You think that’s what this is about?” He cuts you off, pulling you closer so that your body faces his, your thighs slotting together like puzzle pieces. “You think I want this just because I feel bad for you?”

“Well…” You search his eyes. “Yes,” you say.

Logan’s face falls, and he shakes his head. “I want you, pretty girl,” he pants, his knee rubbing against your aching core. “Wanted you this whole time.” His palm presses firmly against your back, his other hand gripping your neck tighter. He wants, no, needs you closer. “You ruined me the second I saw you. Haven’t been with anyone since then.”

“Logan,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to his neck. “I want you too. Always have,” you confess.

He smiles, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to yours. “Then let me do this for you,” he rasps, almost begging, like he needs this more than you do. “Need to make you feel good, beautiful.” “Please,” you breathe. “Want you so bad, Lo.”

He curses under his breath, his lips capturing yours, harder this time. This kiss is starving, all-consuming. His tongue swipes across your lower lip, and you open your mouth, inviting him inside. He lowers you down carefully, sure not to break the kiss, guiding your back to the wood floor below.

His thighs rest on either side of your hips as he hovers over you, bracing himself with his forearm. His free hand trails up your body, exploring your curves, hiking your shirt above your breasts. He smirks against your lips at the realization that you have no bra on.

“Look at you,” he mumbles, rolling a nipple under his thumb, palming your breast. “Fucking perfect.” His fingertips drag to the other side, massaging you gently, taking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinching softly. “Can smell you, you know,” he grunts. “Know you’re soaking for me, darlin’.”

His hand slides between the valley of your breasts, trailing down your stomach, until his fingertips bump into the waistband of your panties. He hesitates, looking down at you, waiting for you to change your mind, to tell him to stop. “Please,” you beg. “Need you, Lo.”

Logan smirks, his hand slipping under the hem of your shorts and inside your panties. “Love it when you call me that, sweetheart,” he groans. His fingertips flick your clit gently before finding your folds, feeling your arousal. “Barely even touched you,” he tuts. “And she’s already crying for me.”

He prods your entrance, spreading your slick, teasing you. He bites your lips, sucking so hard he might bruise—might draw blood—and you hope he does. You want proof that he was here, proof that he wants you—needs you this badly. You moan as his fingers find your clit again, drawing a few soft circles before pulling away, his hand slipping out of your shorts.

You grab his biceps needily, impatiently, your nails digging into his skin. “Don’t stop,” you cry out. “Please, Logan.”

He swallows your moans with another kiss, his lips trailing down to your jaw, then your neck—that sensitive spot just under your ear. “Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he soothes, biting down on your pulse point, licking the hollow of your throat. “Don’t think I could stop if I tried.” He nips at your collarbone, shoving your tank top further up your chest as his lips drag down the valley of your breasts.

He kisses his way to your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your legs. His palms spread across your inner thighs, yanking them apart. He settles between them, his face just inches from your heat. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit, still all too clothed, hidden behind your panties.

“Lo,” you whine. He breathes you in, pressing another kiss to your clit. He digs his fingers into the hem of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs.

“Wanna take my time with you, sweetheart,” he grunts, finally throwing your panties to the side. He spreads your legs wider, his face settling back between your thighs. You can feel his breath against your cunt, warm and teasing. “Wanna take care of you.” His lips finally find your clit again, and he licks at you.

His tongue is soft, warm, wet. He laps at you again, harder this time, and you moan his name. “Fuck,” you curse as he licks a long stripe through your folds and back up to your clit, flicking the bud. Your legs twitch, your hips backing away involuntarily at the newfound pleasure. Logan’s hands slide under your ass, yanking you back to his face.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He mumbles teasingly against you, the vibration of his deep, bassy voice rocking your core. “Not letting you go until I’m done with you, darlin’.”

You curse under your breath as he licks another long, slow stripe through your folds before settling on your clit. His tongue draws gentle circles around the bud, and you can’t hold back the loud moan that falls from your lips.

“Yeah?” Logan husks between laps. “Feels good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, looking down at Logan, his face buried against your cunt. His eyes are trained on yours, watching your every move, taking in the way you’re squirming for him. “D-didn’t know it would feel this good, Lo.”

“Gonna try something, okay?” He says, his eyes searching yours. You nod emphatically, bracing yourself. His lips wrap around your clit, his teeth lightly grazing the bud as he pulls it into his mouth. And then he sucks, hard. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching off the floor.

He releases the bud, and does it again, sucking harder this time. Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, pleasure coursing through your veins. “Logan!” You cry out, your nails digging into the floor below, searching for purchase. “Fuck!” He laps at you soothingly, drawing tighter, faster circles around your clit.

“You okay?” He coos between laps, his tongue swirling rapidly.

You swallow, meeting his gaze again. The sight of him between your legs, working your clit, his hair a disheveled mess—it’s overwhelming. “Yeah,” you heave. “More than okay.”

He smirks against you and wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking on the bud like hard candy. His right hand slides out from under your ass, trailing up your inner thigh. Your heart thunders in your chest as his fingertips find your folds, spreading your slick, your walls clenching down around nothing.

“Know you need ‘em, pretty girl,” Logan croons, two fingers nudging your entrance. “Beg for it.”

But he’s sucking on your clit again, making it impossible to say a word. You whimper, your legs trembling. “P-please,” you stutter, choking on air. “Need…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering closed. You swallow harshly. “Need your fingers, Lo,” you finally manage.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, shoving two fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles.

“Fuck, thank you,” you whine, moaning his name as his fingers stretch you out. You suddenly feel so full, so warm, so close. He pulls out, only to plunge back in, deeper this time. He’s lapping at you with reckless abandon—a man starved, like you’re the air he needs to breathe. Your walls flutter around him, the liquid heat in your lower belly threatening to burst.

“Tastes so good,” Logan mumbles against you, his long, thick fingers thrusting in and out. He hits that sweet spot deep inside you with every pump. “Such a sweet little pussy. Tastes better than I imagined.” You’re crumbling underneath him. His words alone might push you over the edge. “Nothing compares to you, you know that?”

Your walls flutter again, his fingers sinking deeper inside you. “You like that?” Logan husks. “Like knowing how much I want you? How much I need you?”

“Yes,” you groan, his fingers fucking into you, faster now. His teeth graze your clit as he pulls the bud back into his mouth and sucks roughly. “N-need you, too. Always.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, scissoring inside you, dragging along your walls. He laps at you, his tongue stroking your clit. “Not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

You curse under your breath. You can feel yourself melting, your walls contracting and releasing. “Lo,” you call. “I’m so close. Wanna…” You trail off, unable to finish.

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Don’t hold back. Let it happen,” he coaches, rocking into you. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you come on my fingers.” He laps at you between sentences. “Come for me. Know you can do it.” And then everything is white-hot and blazing.

It’s earth-shattering—better than anything has ever felt before. The tension snaps, heat boiling under your skin. Everything is blurry, hazy, dizzied as you let go, and let go hard. You cry out Logan’s name, your thighs shaking as waves of pleasure drag you under. Your bones are burning, scorching. Everything is on fire—overwhelming and greedily all-consuming.

Logan’s pumps slow, and he carefully pulls out of you. He laves at you, his tongue pushing through your folds, milking you dry, savoring every last drop.

“Logan,” you whisper, your hands reaching down to his head, digging your fingers into his scalp.

He hums against you, unwavering as his tongue laps at your folds, tasting your release.

You’re still shaking, still coming down from your high. “Logan,” you call again, and he looks up this time, lifting his face from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, and he licks his lips clean of you. His eyes are dark, his palms squeezing your thighs possessively.

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart,” he says, demand clear in his voice.

Your heart flutters in your chest as he climbs up your body, hovering over you again. His lips find yours. “You taste that?” He mumbles, kissing you again, harder this time. “You taste how sweet you are?”

“Y-yes,” you answer, his hand sliding down your body, slipping between your legs, finding your overstimulated clit.

He pinches the bud lightly, your back arching off the ground, your breasts pressing to his all-too-clothed chest. “Need more of you,” he husks, his hand dragging back up your body. He sits up and pulls you into his chest, taking all your weight as he hoists you up and stands. You instinctually wrap your legs around his waist.

He places you in the center of your bed before striding across the room, closing and locking your bedroom door. “They’ll all be home soon,” Logan says, walking back towards you, spreading your legs and settling between your thighs. “Might have to be quiet for me, darlin’.”

“W-what do you—”

And then his face is buried deep inside your cunt, his tongue lapping desperately at your clit. “I told you,” he rasps. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

tags: @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesslut @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

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